Thawing the Widow
by The Wize 1
Summary: Catalina Gray is nearly nine years old, has a genius IQ and a magnet for trouble. When her alcoholic uncle is deemed incapable of being a guardian, she's taken into an orphanage. But then plot twist- CPS digs up a distant relative: Natasha Romanoff. In her new life(although it's only temporary), there's a buff artist, a crazy good shot, a Spider Boy, and of course Natasha herself.
1. Chapter 1: Knock, Knock

**This takes place after the Age of Ultron in the MCU universe and Coulson is still alive.**

* * *

Three knocks at the door, crisp and clear.

Cat could hear it from the kitchen, where she was making a tilting tower out of her books. It was weird that they hadn't used the doorbell. And she wasn't supposed to answer the door without her uncle giving her permission to, but who cared about what Uncle Kyle thought anyway? It wasn't like he was at home. She jumped up from the table and ran to the door.

She opened the door with a screech. A woman stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard and looking very official. Her suit didn't have a single crease and her posture was like she had a rod jammed up her spine. She smiled at Cat but it didn't look very real.

"Hello, sweetie. Are your parents home?"

Cat rolled her eyes. She was in a bad mood. "Do I look stupid to you, lady? I'm not gonna tell you that, you might be a robber."

She continued to smile pleasantly, but it didn't look very natural. The smile had gained a creepy look. She kind of looked like a talking doll in a horror movie. Smile fake, eyes wide and kind of bulging, like fish eyes. "Sweetheart-"

"Don't call me that."

"Sweetheart," Fish Eyes said, "do I look like a robber to you?"

"No offense, lady,"-Cat raised her eyebrows at a level of skepticism that an eight-year-old should never have been able to achieve-"But you kinda do."

The woman looked nothing like a robber, but Cat had said that to piss her off.

She mumbled something that sounded a lot like ' _little_ _kids_ ' but said, "Can you tell me your name, at least?"

"Sure can," Cat said brightly, "But I'm not going to."

The robber kept smiling, which was infuriating. "Okay, let's try this another way. How does ten dollars sound to you?"

"Like bribery," Cat answered honestly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "So make it twenty and I'll answer your questions." To be honest, she wasn't really sure why she was just trusting this random woman she just met to give her money so that she could answer questions, but hey...twenty dollars was a lot of money, at least in her book.

"It's a deal." The woman smiled again. "How about we go inside first, and then you can tell me your name?"

Cat nodded eagerly. "'Kay, but first you gotta tell me _your_ name."

"My name is Katherine, and I'm a Social Security worker. You know what that means?"

She sized up Katherine the Social Security Worker unsubtly. She hated it when adult only told her their first name. First names meant they expected her to be friendly, and Cat didn't like making friends. Cat showed her in the door. "Nope." She popped the 'p'.

"It means I protect people." Katherine entered the door, her heels clicking noisily on the floor. She looked around, eyes widening a fraction as she took the sight in. A slight "oh" escaped her mouth. Her voice was obviously forced when she said, "This is a... nice place."

It was anything but nice. The walls were peeling, the floor was scratched up, and the entire place smelled like smoke and liquor. Was she making fun of her? Cat shrugged and told her, "Not really."

"So, now that I've told you my name, what _is_ your name?"

"Cat."

Katherine beamed. "Really? That's a wonderful name. Our names kind of match. You know. _Kath_ erine. _Cat._ "

Cat shrugged again, not really seeing it. She led Katherine into the kitchen and clambered back on the table with her book tower. "My full name is Catalina Gray, but Cat's simpler."

Katherine took a seat at Uncle Kyle's seat. "And how old are you again?"

"Eight years old. May I have my money now, please?" Cat asked politely. Uncle Kyle always told her to be polite. Then again, he also drank weird smelling liquids and injected himself with stuff _on purpose_ , so why should she listen to him?

Katherine rustled in her clipboard and placed a crisp twenty on the table. Cat looked at it with wide eyes. She had never had money of her own. Uncle Kyle didn't like spending things on her that were unnecessary like toys or fancy clothing. She never got to try ice cream or candy, which in her point of view kind of defeated the entire purpose of existing. Katherine said, "This will soon be yours, as long as you answer all of my questions."

Cat tried to act nonchalant. "Alright-y then. Ask away."

"Where are your parents?"

Cat's throat closed up, her body going stiff. But she forced a casual expression, forcing her voice to remain calm. "Oh. They're dead."

Katherine's face scrunched up in unneeded sympathy. "Oh, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Lie. It wasn't. "It happened a long time ago." Lie. "I don't even remember the details." Lie. She could remember every single thing that happened on that fateful day.

"Who do you live with now?"

"My Uncle Kyle. He's dumb."

Katherine leaned forward, eyes interested. "Dumb, like not smart?"

"No, just dumb. Like I hate him."

"Why is that?" Katherine eyed the beer bottles and the syringes laying around the floor with great precision. Cat suddenly felt shame shoot through her veins. She was uncomfortable about how closely Katherine was studying them. The look in her eyes was nearly _judging_. She moved slightly in front of her so that she was blocking Katherine's view. "Does he drink that stuff?"

Cat stacked another book, debating for a second whether or not to tell the truth. "Yup. A lot. Sometimes he just lays on the couch and yells at me when I do bad stuff. He smokes too. Two of those boxes a day. He throws up in the bathroom." The truth just slipped out of her mouth. The words felt alien on her tongue. She couldn't remember the last time she told someone something this personal. Cat wasn't about to tell this random stranger that she felt frightened when Kyle got all red and angry. She was tough, she could handle it.

Katherine scribbled on her clipboard, which made Cat slightly worried. Why was she filing down this information for later? "Hm. Where is your uncle at the moment?"

Cat pulled a book out from the bottom, feeling suddenly angry. Why did Katherine care if her uncle was out? She watched the books tumble onto the table and spill over the floor. Katherine's eyes softened, bending down to pick one up. "Oh, here you go," she said, "I'll help you pick these up."

"Out, I guess."

Katherine paused in the midst of picking up a book that read _Alice in Wonderland_. "You mean you're alone in your house right now?"

Cat saw the panic in her eyes and denied. "No. I mean, kind of."

Katherine straightened her clipboard, not looking at all convinced. "I see...Cat, it's very important that you answer this next question truthfully. Does he ever hit you?"

What kind of question was that? "Um, sometimes. But not that hard. He swings at me but he misses most of the time. And it's only when my teachers complain or something."

"Do your teachers complain often?"

Cat met Katherine's eyes. She was beginning to feel like she was in a therapy session. "Sometimes. But usually they're wrong about the things I did. One time our fish died and Billy blamed me for feeding the fish too much food, but _he_ was the one that took it out of the water."

Katherine frowned and muttered a lot. She was silent for the next two minutes, where she scribbled away on her clipboard and Cat played with her books silently. Cat spoke up.

"Why are you asking so many questions anyway? If you're worried about Kyle being dumb, don't."

"I don't doubt that, but this can turn out to be a problem later." It was the first time Katherine spoke to her like she was an actual adult and not some dumb kid. Cat's little respect for the woman rose. But just a little.

"'Kay then."

"Okay, Cat. That's enough questioning. Do you mind if I stay with you, just until your uncle Kyle comes back?"

She didn't care, as long as she got her money. "Okay."

Katherine slid the twenty dollar bill to her, then winked as if they had some sort of secret. Cat snatched it up and ran her finger against the edge. Katherine leaned forward and dropped the volume of her voice. "Let's keep this between us, shall we?"

Cat nodded. "Sure."

The woman studied Cat for a few seconds. Cat recognized the pity in her eyes, but she bit her lip to stop herself from saying she didn't need it. Instead of saying that she felt sorry for her, Katherine said, "You know, you're unusually mature for someone who's eight years old."

Cat dropped her eyes to the ground where a shattered beer bottle laid. _I_ _had to grow up fast._


	2. Chapter 2: Orphanage(or Foster Home?)

**There we go. Two chapters in a day, not bad at all, is it? Well, unless you're reading from across the world, in that case I have no idea because I'm horrible at math.**

 **Disclaimer: Marvel owns all. Except my OC. And the OC's uncle. And anything else you don't recognize.**

 **I'm new to fanfiction and stuff and this is my first story. I promise the next chapters will be longer. (I usually write 2000 words or more.) I've run out of things to say, so here's the line thingy:**

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"CATALINA GRAY!"

Cat heard her name hollered from across the hallway and guessed, by the nasal tone and the way they had pronounced her full name, that it was one of the adults. Cat ignored the noise, peacefully scribbling over the lines of the drawing, when the door banged open and her assumption was proven. It was Miss Oat, who had a weird name that Cat wasn't supposed to make fun of because it was "rude".

"CATALINA!"

Cat turned in her chair, scowling. "Stop wasting your breath. I heard you the first time. And my name isn't Catalina Gray, it's Cat."

"Your name _is_ Catalina, and that is what I will call you."

"Your name starts with an E and it's really long and I can't pronounce it, but I don't call _you_ by that, do I?"

Oat turned about ten shades of red. She was rather easy to rile up. She took a large breath, and Cat knew instinctively she was going to shout "CATALINA GRAY" again.

"It's rude to barge in and interrupt people when they're drawing, Oat. You should learn how to knock," Cat said, "It's also rude to not call people by their preferred name." Oat's nostrils were flaring, and she clearly didn't get the point Cat was making. Cat decided to elaborate. "Like, how would you feel if _I_ made fun of your name?"

Oat took a few breaths. "I _know_ you were the one to superglue my desk shut. I know it! I see the devil in your eyes!"

Okay, confession time. Cat _had_ superglued Oat's desk shut, but the comment about the devil was just plain mean. "Never work in court, Oat. Their motto is something like 'Innocent until proven guilty' and that's a concept that you can't seem to grasp. And plus," she added with a scoff, "The devil can't fit in my eyes. He's have to be, like, this tiny." Cat placed her index finger and thumb a millimeter apart to show her. "And why would I waste my time to superglue your desk shut? After all, I'm just an innocent eight year old."

In Cat's point of view, that was quite a convincing argument. Oat wasn't seeing it.

"You are certainly not an innocent eight year old. And I have proof that you did it. It was captured on the security cameras." She smiled in triumph.

For a frightening moment, Cat believed her. But Cat recognized the look of someone who was about to catch a victim in a confession, and she called her bluff. "That's not true. There are no security cameras in your office."

"And how would you know if you hadn't been the one to do it?"

Cat sighed a long suffering sigh and spoke to Oat slowly and clearly with the air of explaining things to a toddler. "'Cause, Oat. I've been in your office before. I have eyes, and I also have common sense, therefore I know what a security camera looks like. In your office, there are zero. ZERO. You have no proof."

Oat didn't like that. A vein in her forehead throbbed. Her hair was frizzy and her face was completely red. She had just realized that she indeed had zero proof, no evidence, no reasoning whatsoever, and was shouting mindlessly at an eight year old girl with more reasoning skills than she did.

"It's all right, Oat." Cat said sweetly, "It's perfectly understandable to make a mistake. And you can shut the door behind you when you leave." Oat didn't move a muscle, inhaling and exhaling loudly in the room. It was like being a rabbit in a room with a trapped rhinoceros. Cat half expected her to charge at her headfirst.

Oat closed her eyes like she was trying to rein in her temper, then decided to not even bother. "THAT'S IT, YOU INTOLERABLE GIRL! I'M TAKING YOU TO MY OFFICE!"

Cat had the sudden urge to scream and dive under the desk and say, "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" But to be honest, that felt a little silly. What had prompted her to think of that she had no idea. Too many weird movies. (Kyle's interest of child appropriate content had been nonexistent.)

"Fine," she said agreeably enough.

Oat rolled her eyes viciously and took hold of her forearm. "Oh, so _now_ you want to cooperate?"

Was she complaining after Cat had done exactly what she had asked? Cat tugged her arm out of her grasp. "Wait, wait, wait..."

"What, girl? Now you want to rein in your mouth?"

Cat grabbed her crayons. "At least let me take my drawing…"

Oat let out an animalistic growl and grabbed at Cat's forearm. The door opened and slammed behind them. Cat was dragged out the door along the hallway, and her shoes skidded against the carpet. She tried to run along with Oat's large strides while carrying her crayons and her paper futilely. Cat eventually gave up, allowing Oat to simply drag her there. She wondered how her life got to this low point.

It had turned out, Katherine the Social Worker was not to be trusted ever again. She had waited with Cat in silence, but after Uncle Kyle came back, there was a whole lot of yelling. And throwing sharp things. Well, Kyle threw sharp things. Katherine mostly just ducked and waved her clipboard in the air shouting things like "Sir, please be reasonable!" like that was supposed to help.

Then Kyle had passed out and Cat had been driven to this godforsaken place.

Cat had learned exactly one thing since she'd been shipped off to foster care: she hated it. They had so many mean kids. And a lot of annoying caretakers, or at least that was what they called themselves. And so many _freaking rules_. Uncle Kyle had been a horrible drunk, but at least he'd let her do what she wanted for the most part.

The caretakers didn't seem to get that she wasn't four years old. They smiled at her so hard that Cat had asked one of the caretakers how they could bear the facial pain. That particular caretaker(whose name was Miss Thompson, Cat found out later) hadn't smiled once at her since. Cat had a bad record with the caretakers, actually. She punched one in the face, mouthed off top another, and unleashed the full extent of her cursing(some of the words she didn't even know the meaning of) at the last one.

Things had changed a lot. Now she had a also had to attend the local school, with turned out to be absolute trash with lousy teachers and nonfunctional public restrooms. It sucked, but it wasn't much worse than her old school. And the troublemaking kids who were "bad" had to stay in "time out" and "stay quiet". Pfft. Cat thought it was a stupid system. If they thought that "time out" was going to work on a bunch of angsty teens and wild animals for children they were sorely mistaken.

The babies were loud and stupid. The toddlers were virtually useless. Every kid her age were either annoyingly whiny or annoyingly optimistic and not particularity intelligent. The teens, who were bitter from not being adopted, were depressing and mean. All of which lacked an IQ above double digits.

To sum it up, her life sucked. It was depressing. Stupid. Dumb. In fact-

Oat's voice next to her ear made Cat jump and nearly drop her crayons. "Now, are you ready to apologize?"

Cat made herself tiny. She had to admit, the ferocity of Oat's glare made her heart skip a beat a little even though she didn't care about what trouble she landed in this time. She managed to squeak out, "You always say not to lie…"

"I'm tired of all this nonsense. You tell the truth when the situation suits you, you're as devious as a fox." The woman pointed at her desk, which indeed had a layer of white paste sealing the drawer from opening. "And just look at what you did! I had _lots_ of important papers in there!"

Cat didn't mean to say it, but the quip just slid out of her mouth. "What, your receipts from McDonalds?"

Oat, who was quite large, took strong offense at that. "Now, you listen carefully-"

The door to her office opened. Oat paused in what had the potential to be a massive waste of her breath. Hers and Cat's eyes turned to the door in unison. Standing there with an apologetic expression, was a boy Cat had dubbed Afro Guy(for obvious reasons).

He took one look at the bristling Oat and Cat's steady calmness and grimaced. Cat felt a stab of annoyance. Did he feel bad for her? How dare he. He 'ahem'ed dramatically and said, "Um, excuse me. Mister George told me that he needed Catalina."

Cat said, "It's just Cat." the same time Oat said "I'm not finished with the brat yet!"

Afro Guy shrugged. "I don't know why, but said it was not to be questioned."

George was the guy who ran the show at the orphanage. He called himself the 'President' of the orphanage. Which made him Cat's enemy No.1. He was a stocky balding man with a wispy little moustache and fashion sense as nonexistent as his sense of humor. Cat hated his guts.

Oat glared at her for a while longer as to explicitly show her displeasure in this, but she eventually nodded. "You heard the boy. Get out of my office! But we're not done here. You still-"

"Bye!" Cat said, slamming the door behind her.

Afro Guy smiled at her, but she pushed past him. Once she was out of his sight range, she slowed abruptly. She was in no hurry to get to George's office. She took a little detour, hanging out in the bathroom for a while, then taking a long drink at the water fountain(which was conveniently at the other end of the building), then strolled leisurely toward the office.

He was onto her the moment she opened the door. His not-impressive moustache trembled as he roared, "You were supposed to be here seven minutes ago!"

If there was one thing the entire staff shared at the foster care thing, it was their apparent lack to use indoor voices.

"You never specified a time."

He sniffed. "I'll be glad when you're gone."

"I'm going somewhere? You mean, like Disneyland?"

George barked a laugh. "As if! You're too bratty to go to that tourist trap!"

A rush of dislike ran through her and she felt the instant need to insult him. "Your breath kinda smells, did you know?" Cat said bluntly. "Did you have a tuna salad for lunch? 'Cause I speak for everyone else in the room when I say _ew_."

"Everyone else in the room" turned out to be all women. Miss Ferris, a youngish woman with blonde hair and a nervous expression, and another woman. The other woman had curly red hair that dropped to her shoulders, with regal features, and had the most bright green eyes Cat had ever seen. She sat in her chair like it was her throne with an expression like she would give her right arm to be anywhere but there. Cat didn't know who she was. But as her eyes fell on another familiar face all thoughts of the redhead dropped.

"Oh. It's you." Cat said tonelessly.

Katherine the Social Worker smiled weakly and tried to smoothen her suit. "Hello, Cat. Look. I'm sorry."

"You lied to me! You said that you would help me! You even took my money!" Which, really, was the only thing that she was _really_ pissed off about.

Katherine lasped into silence, looking down, seemingly unable to say anything except, "It was for your own good."

"I was fine on my own! You did _nothing_! Your help was worthless!" Cat stop abruptly at the end of her sentence. Was she yelling? She needed to stop yelling.

"Gray."

"George," Cat said, her entire voice and disposition changing as she turned to look at who was watching the exchange with raised eyebrows. Her ignorance was genuine when she asked, "Is that even your real name? You're like the monkey from _Curious George_ , right? Except with an uglier face."

"You _dare_ speak to me-" he boomed, but then the redhead spoke up.

There was a light rasp to her voice. When she met Cat's eyes her pulse skyrocketed. There were _horrors_ in the woman's eyes. They showed eyes that had seen many things, and at the same time nothing at all. (Wow, that was poetic.) The redhead's eyes didn't linger on her too long for it to feel creepy. The woman turned to George instead. "For god's sake, just get it over with."

What? What did she mean, get it over with? Who the heck was she, anyway?

"GRAY!" George bellowed, and Cat turned to him. "It pleases me greatly to say this. You are being relocated."

Cat blinked. "What?"

"Relocated means you are going to somewhere else." Ferris said helpfully.

"I know what it means."

"At least for the time being," George added, "With your track record, I'd give you three weeks." He sighed, massaging his temples. "Well, it'll be great while it lasts."

"But…" Cat racked her brain for any excuses. She could only think of one, and it wasn't a very good one. "I don't have any relatives left."

Ferris piped up. "Actually, CPS ran a search. And it turns out, your only, and very distant I might add, relative is sitting right here." She pointed a pen at the red haired woman sitting beside her, and then promptly dropped it with a squeak as said woman turned her head sharply. Ferris straightened herself out, looking ruffled.

The red haired woman met Cat's gaze with cool eyes. There was a challenge in them. Cat lifted her chin defiantly as her next words were directly spoken to the woman.

"And you _accepted_?" Cat said with an incredulous laugh. It wasn't nearly as funny as it was astonishing. The redhead didn't seem like the type to take in orphans who had a track record of being kicked out of every home she's been in. More like the type to throw those kind off a cliff.

George snorted, giving the woman a side eye. "A decision which I still don't understand."

The woman ignored George's comment. "Frankly, I didn't have much choice in the matter."

Cat's heart pummeled like a stone. Of course she didn't _want_ her. She made sure none of it reached her face or her voice when she responded. "Oh, good. That makes much more sense."

"So it's settled!" George leaned back into his chair with a look on his face like: Thank _god_ she's finally gone! His next words were spoken to the woman. "You're leaving with her, and if you ever regret your decision majorly, which is 100% likely to happen, you will _not_ return her to us, understand?"

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Cat said a little too loudly. No one was listening to her! It was all moving too fast. "You don't even know if she's a capable guardian! She might be a drug dealer!"

The person in question raised her eyebrows amusedly. "A drug dealer?" Cat decided she hated that condescending note in her voice.

Katherine interjected suddenly. "No, we've done a background check on her. She's clean. And there's no denying the relation. We ran a DNA test, and you're matched nearly perfectly."

Cat turned to the woman desperately. There was an odd expression on the woman's face, something like amusement. Well, _she_ clearly wasn't going to help. She turned to Ferris. "What if I don't want to go with her?"

"Come on, Catalina. It'll be great!" Ferris patted her on the back, which helped exactly zero percent. "Look, I'll give you some time to get to know her." She got up and left the room. She was shortly followed by Katherine, who shot Cat a lingering look before the door fell in behind her retreating form.

George glanced after her, looking annoyed. "I supposed I'll just...leave my own office, then."

The door's slam echoed in the room. Cat dropped her head as she jerked it to the woman's general direction. "I don't even know your name," she said miserably.

The woman nodded coolly as if this was perfectly acceptable. Nothing seemed to faze her. She had no reaction to the sudden departure of the two only other people in the room. She was scary and weird, Cat thought. A little like a robot or something more dangerous. Or an ice princess, hard and cold.

"My name is Natasha Romanoff."

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 **Plus, it's free, so y'know...you might as well.**


	3. Chapter 3: What's your favorite color?

" _My name is Natasha Romanoff."_

It was the first words spoken to the audience through a black screen, it was the introduction of a hero's origin story, it was the changing of Cat's life that began just as those words were uttered into the dark unforgiving universe.

Dramatic? Maybe.

Necessary? Oh, yes.

Cat felt her stomach pummeling south. She felt an internal monologue coming.

Most foster kids would have jumped at the chance of finally finding a home. But Cat had been in lots of different foster homes; she knew the drill. The first few weeks they'd play it safe, all careful smiles and _yes, sirs_ and _ma'am_. Then there would typically be a period of testing out the boundaries. And finally, they'd fit into their new family! That was how it was supposed to work out, right?

Right?

Except no.

Thing was, Cat didn't _want_ to be accepted into a new didn't know these people, she didn't _like_ these people, and she was fine the way she was. The people adopting ranged from young couples who didn't want to go through the whole pregnancy thing to middle aged couples who had trouble conceiving children.

And all of them were way too stupidly nice. Cat didn't trust people that were stupidly nice. She had taken care of herself for a long time, and she didn't need a stranger to do it for her, thank you very much. All of the foster parents were the same. All soft eyes and gentle voices, warm smiles. Cat didn't like those people. Those people that babied her and treated her like she was a child to be coddled. She didn't take well to affectionate gestures like hugging and people reading her stories when she went to bed.

She was eight, dammit, not _three_ , and she didn't need someone to give her warm milk and cookies when she went to sleep.

She never got the way their kids could so easily fit into families like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle slotting into place. Was there a class she was absent for? _Fitting in With Your New Foster Family 101._ It made her feel confused. Out of place. She talked differently than the other kids, acted differently too. There was something— always something— that got her kicked out of a home.

Cat had a plan. A careful plan, to be meticulously followed to the letter. It went like this: Bide her time at the orphanage plotting her dramatic escape, eventually set those plans into action, and work in a Starbucks until she got rich and then buy a house with a heated jacuzzi. Then she'd watch as the world crashed and burned around her. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

But this? This was nothing but another obstacle in her way.

Cat had known… Nicole for approximately five minutes and she was already intimidated. Not to mention, she had forgotten the woman's name. There was just something weird about her.

Sure, Noelle hadn't glared like Oat. Or sneered like George. Or done anything that struck her as particularly evil. The way she was looking at Cat reminded her of documentaries she'd watcheds of cobras sizing up their prey because they strike. Warning signs flashed in her brain: _DANGER DANGER DANGER_. And— not to brag, but— as an expert liar, manipulator, and pickpocket extraordinaire, she was usually right about those things. Cat couldn't put it into words, but Natalie— no, Nelli— no, Nora—

Okay, she was just going to call her "Red" from now on.

And that was a whole lot of thinking she just did staring at the floor probably like a weirdo. Woo, she was tired.

Someone was touching her shoulder. Instinct screamed at her to _get out of the way!_ She recoiled sharply, glaring. _Hey, lady,_ she wanted to say. _Just because you're all dangerous and scary doesn't mean you can't respect the simple rule of the personal bubble. Please and thank you._

Red held her hands up in a _whoa there_ kind of way. "Hey, sorry. You seemed a little zoned out," The woman pulled back as well, folding her hands neatly. She tried for a friendly smile that got stuck around the edges. Cat guessed she didn't do much of that. "Did I bore you that much with my name?"

"No." Cat crossed her arms over her chest and scowled stubbornly. _Also, what was your name again?_ (Yeah, Cat was not going to say that. She'd figure out the woman's name soon enough, probably.)

"Okay, if you say so."

Cat cleared her throat, hoping this would come out sounding natural and not like a creepy stalker who hid in bushes while spying on you through binoculars. "So—uh. What was your name again?"

 _Yeah, that was smooth._ The voice in the back of her head, which sounded awfully like her, perked up again. _The sheer amount of smoothness, oh Good Lord, is someone writing this down?_

"Oh, shut up," Cat muttered.

"What?" Red asked, officially confused. She clearly thought Cat was insane. Well, that was one step closer to getting kicked back to where she started, so… yay.

"What? Nothing, nothing. Go on."

 _You were saying, smooth talker?_ God, that voice was annoying. Cat wondered if there was a hospital for people who had voices inside their heads.

Probably called a mental hospital, she realized after a second. Well that was no fun.

Curses! And there her ADHD went again. Cat snapped back to the living world just as Red said, "—Natasha Romanoff."

Oh, so that was her name. And by the way, who the hell introduced themselves like that? Besides celebrities and royal people. It's not like Cat went around saying to people, _Hi, my name is Catalina Gray._ For a second Cat debated gasping and saying, _No way! Natasha_ Romanoff _? It's an absolute_ honor _to meet you! Gosh, will you sign my forehead?_

 _Wait,_ the rational part of her brain murmured. _That might be offensive. You don't want to offend her._

 _But yes,_ the other part of her brain said, _you so do._

 _STOP MAKING UP CONVERSATIONS IN YOUR HEAD AND TALK TO THE DAMN WOMAN LIKE THE FUNCTIONAL HUMAN BEING YOU ARE._

"Okay, I'm going to sit over here now." Cat said nonchalantly. She walked over the George's desk and took a seat on his spinny chair. She rifled through his papers. One was labeled IMPORTANT. Ha! As if that would stop anyone from looking through it. She picked it up and skimmed through it casually, ignoring the silence that had descended upon them.

Why was it always up to _her_ to make conversation? "You know," she said, trying not to wince at how forced it sounded, "we're supposed to get to know each other."

"And how do you suppose we do that?"

"I don't know." Cat thought for a moment. "Wanna play a game?"

"A game?"

Cat tried to decipher the tone behind the words, but Red betrayed nothing. She shrugged, rearranging her face in a ruthlessly unembarrassed expression. "Yeah."

"All right. What is it?"

Cat spread her hands sheepishly. "I was kind of hoping you would have one."

Romanoff exhaled through her mouth in a mock annoyed way. "Fine, I've got one. Here's how it goes. You ask me a question, I ask you a question. We keep going until we get bored. I'll go first." Romanoff scrunched up her face as if she was thinking. "What's your favorite color?"

"That's your first question?" Cat was unable to stop herself from sounding judgmental.

Red raised an eyebrow challengingly. "It's a good place to start, if any."

"Green." Cat thought for a moment. "Favorite animal?"

"Hawk," Romanoff said. "And how is that more interesting than asking you about your favorite color?"

"It just is. Your turn."

"How many foster homes have you been in?"

Cat had to think about it. "I don't know. Hard to keep track. Ten? Maybe more? More than anyone else, that's for sure. What do you do?"

Red had to pause before answering. "I'm an agent."

Cat leaned forward. "Ooh. This is interesting. Like...an _agent_ agent? An FBI agent? Or one of those agents who sit at a desk and yell at people through the phone?"

"One question only," Romanoff said with a mysterious raise of her perfectly formed eyebrows. "Least favorite person here?"

"Oat, probably. She's one of the caretakers. She's pretty nasty, she's got this huge mole on her neck. She was yelling at me for supergluing her desk before I came here."

"And did you?" Her eyes were blandly interested, not disapproving.

"One question only." Cat flashed a smile full of mischief. "Are you an FBI agent?"

"You're not allowed to ask that again."

"Why not?"

"Because you can't ask a question about the same topic more than once." Romanoff changed the subject. "Favorite place?"

"The beach, probably," Cat said. She wasn't going to let it go. "You never mentioned that rule."

"Now I have. I make up the game, I make up the rules. It's your turn."

Cat let it drop, figuring out she wasn't going to win the fight. "What are you good at?"

"Karate."

"Really? Actually, I'm not surprised. I can totally imagine you in a black belt." And she could, really.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Favorite meal?"

Cat hesitated. "Pizza." That's what she'd eaten mostly at Jolly Old Kyle's place, anyway. She remembered having dinner at a French restaurant once with her parents once. It wasn't a good memory. She remembered in vivid detail how cold and gross the shrimp was sliding down her throat.

Romanoff was snapping her fingers in front of Cat's face. Cat's eyes focused on her. "You zoned out again. You do this thing often?"

"Perks of having ADHD." Cat fiddled with some papers on George's desk, then looked up with an accusing glint in her eyes. "Hey, that was a question! You asked a question on my turn! That means I get to ask _two_ questions!"

"No," she stated without skipping a beat, "it means that you answered one of my questions by choice. You don't get to skip my turn."

"Oh, come on! Let me guess— 'I make up the game, I make up the rules.'"

Romanoff offered a sharp half smile. "You're cottoning on quickly."

Cat couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she frowned stubbornly and said, "Cheater." And it didn't help that her bottom lip jutted out.

"Name calling is for children."

That wasn't as big as an insult as it should have been, because even though she was remarkably intelligent for her age, she was still a kid. "In case you haven't noticed, I qualify as a 'children.' You're still a cheater."

"Oh, and you never cheat?" Romanoff challenged.

"Did I say that, or are you assuming?"

"Well, have you?"

"Hasn't everyone?"

"You're good with answering questions with questions."

"Thank you. So are you," Cat rebuked. "Speaking of, I have one. How often do you drink?"

"Drink what?"

"You know what. I just want to know, for future reference."

"Every now and then. You're too young to be asking those kinds of questions, you know."

"Depends on your definition of too young," Cat shrugged. "And you've got to be more specific than that. What's 'every now and then'? Days? Months? Weeks?" She widened her eyes. "Hours?"

"Being specific wasn't mentioned in the rules, last I recall. And it's my turn. Ever had a crush?"

Cat screwed up her face at that. "Ew. No."

The corners of Romanoff's lips quirked up and went down so fast that Cat had to take a second and wonder if that was the slightest hint of a smile or just a tic. Romanoff seemed to notice the change, because she fixed her expression immediately, smoothing it out into a more impassive, nonchalant face.

"My turn again," Cat said. "Where do you live?"

"In New York. You'll see."

 _You'll see..?_ After a puzzled pause, Cat got it. Right, she was actually going to live with this random woman she'd just met... Romanoff's question quickly distracted her from that topic, which was probably a good thing. "How did you get here?"

Cat was glad the woman didn't look embarrassed while asking the question. She didn't have Mommy issues or Daddy issues, partly because she had gotten over that road bump a long time ago. She was definitely not going to have Embarrassing Uncle issues. "Are you asking what kind of traumatic childhood experience I had before coming to live here?"

"I guess if that's how you want to interpret it."

"Isn't that a little insensitive?"

She lifted one shoulder. "I've been called worse. And you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

There was a tense pause where both of their gazes were locked on each other's.

Cat broke it with an easy grin. "Nah, it's okay. My home situation was a little... iffy, I guess. Iffy? Not sure what that word means, but I guess it fits the context. I had an uncle. His name was Kyle. The first month he kept on calling me Carla. He was lovely at times-which is to say, never- and the opposite at other times. Getting drunk all the time, stumbling around into walls, generally making a fool out of himself. I'm pretty sure he was taking drugs, too. Hit me a couple of times-" She stopped abruptly, then rolled her eyes in a blunt _I don't care_ kind of way. "Well, what did he think was going to happen? Someone was bound to notice, right? And it did happen, so I ended up here. But hey, it's fine now. So whatever."

She realized that she'd probably talked too long and slowed to an uneven stop. Ah, great. She'd made things awkward again.

The woman's voice wasn't forceful, but it was firm. There was ice in her eyes. "I see," was all she said.

Cat grinned at her. "'I see'? That's all you're going to say? C'mon, where's the fake sympathy? I think I deserve at least a bit of fake sympathy, don't you think?"

"I think you deserve sympathy that isn't fake."

"Oh." Cat stumbled over her next words. The sincereness surprised her. "Um. That's nice of... yeah. I'll accept it."

The coldness descended on her face again, and the moment passed. "It's your turn."

"Uh... how am I related to you?"

"You're something like my second niece's cousin's cousin twice removed."

Her eyes widened. "That's a mouthful."

"Isn't it?" Romanoff said. "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"

"Mint with an artificial cherry on top. What's your go-to drink in the morning?"

"Definitely coffee," Romanoff replied without hesitation.

"Really? Me too."

Romanoff gave a very unladylike snort. "You're barely out of kindergarten and you drink coffee?"

Cat folded her arms defensively. "Kindergarten? That's offensive. I take great offense to that. I'm eight years old and my IQ is at least twenty points higher than the kids in my class." Under her breath, she said, "Honestly, you'd expect a bunch of third graders to not act like a bunch of morons during class, but nooooo." As an afterthought, she added, "And coffee isn't that big of a deal. It helps me wake up in the morning."

"It stunts your growth."

Cat scoffed. "It so does not."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. Do you like your popcorn with caramel or butter?"

 _SLAM!_

There was a loud noise that echoed around the room, the sound of a door swinging shut. Cat's and Romanoff's heads turned toward the door in perfect synchronization. George leaned against the doorframe swirling a cup of red wine in his left hand like an evil villain, looking thoroughly irritated. Cat half expected him to develop an accent and drawl, " _Well, well, well. What do we have here?"_

Instead, he said, "As heartwarming and disgusting this family reunion has been, I think we're done here."

"Your moustache is red and you look ridiculous," Cat told him.

George's hand flew up to his moustache so fast that she first thought he would smack himself in the face. He checked the reflection in a mirror, and turned back with a furious expression. He stormed over to where Cat was sprawled out on his chair(first setting his wine on the desk) and shoved her off his chair with a scowl. He brushed the imaginary dust off of his desk furiously muttering something along the lines of, "Brats infecting my office. Leaving germs all around."

He turned to Romanoff and adopted a pleasant, polite tone. "Miss Romanoff, as much as I enjoy your pleasant company, your niece's cousin's something is a hellion and she needs to skedaddle. My office has been occupied by _brat_ for far too long." He smoothened out his moustache violently and huffed.

Romanoff took it calmly. "What about Cat's belongings?"

"Oh, them?" George gave Cat a long look that clearly communicated that he wanted her to go drive off a cliff. "I suppose you could stop by the bedrooms and take her teddy bear and whatever else she needs. But you better do it quick, or I'll just throw all of it out the window."

Totally unnecessary.

"Well. It was a pleasure to meet you, George." Romanoff said in a voice that stated plainly the opposite. She grasped George's hand with a tight smile and as George winced in pain, Cat got that Romanoff had squeezed his hand so hard that he probably pulled a muscle. A new respect for the woman seized Cat, and she couldn't help the grin that slid onto her face.

Romanoff gracefully got out of the chair and beckoned Cat with a finger. "Let's get out of this hellhole."

Cat had an instantaneous, evil idea. She pretended as if she was going to walk to Romanoff's side, and her hand "accidentally" reached out and tipped over George's red wine. Red liquid spilled all over the table, seeping into papers and probably leaving a prominent stain on his desk. George yelled out several somethings and charged. Romanoff leaped forward and clutched Cat's hand before she could react, and in one smooth motion pulled her toward the door.

Cat called, "Have a nice life!" just as the door slammed shut behind her. She could hear George's frantic attempts to stop the wine from seeping into his precious desk, and grinned harder. She didn't even mind being dragged. It was only when they were a good few yards away Romanoff released her. She turned away as that Cat couldn't see her expression, but there might have been approval on her face.

"That was impressive and stupid," Romanoff said, "I don't think I'm supposed to encourage this type of behavior, but to be frank, I didn't like him anyway."

Cat beamed, and Romanoff rolled her eyes.

"I did also say stupid."

"Yeah, but _you also said_ it was impressive," Cat reasoned, "So maybe it was the stupidity that _really_ impressed you.."

"Don't twist my words. We're getting your stuff."

Oh, yeah. She totally won that argument.

Ten minutes later, and a sort-of tour with Cat telling false but entertaining lies about everyone who went to the orphanage, pointing out the bathrooms and stuff on the way, Cat was scooping up all her belongings in her school backpack. She shared a room with six other girls, which was a bit of a tight squeeze.

She didn't have much to pack. Her clothes were an odd assortment of grass stained jeans, tees which were either ripped or had holes in some places, undergarments, and the Converses she was wearing. She stuffed all of the packets of candy that she'd stashed under her pillow in, too. There were all kinds, ranging from gum drops to candy bars. She'd pilfered them from several places, even though candy wasn't allowed in the dorms.

Romanoff watched Cat try and stuff the candy in her overflowing backpack with amusement. "Are you even supposed to have that?"

"No."

"Here, I'll put it in my purse."

Cat looked up from her attempting to(and failing miserably) fit all of the candy in his backpack. She stared steadily at Romanoff, face completely and utterly serious. "Promise me you'll protect it with your life, before all others and death included."

"I refuse to promise that."

"Promise!" Cat insisted.

"Fine— promise. Give it."

"With your life."

"With my life."

Cat reluctantly handed it over and zipped her backpack shut. Romanoff seemingly produced a bag out of nowhere, as Cat watched with amazement. ("Whoa, how did you do that?") There were a lot of packets, but they managed to fit them all in with no problem.

"Here, let me see," Cat said, snatching the bag out of Romanoff's hands, "Wow! Your purse isn't even that big! How'd you fit all of that candy? Wait, there's nothing inside of here! Well, except this lipstick, bah, boring. Wait, is that a gun?" She pulled back, eyes gleaming with triumph. "I _knew_ you were an FBI agent! Who carries a gun in their purse?"

"It's fake. Enough to bluff my way out of a tight situation." Romanoff snatched her purse back. "Obviously."

"That's what a real FBI agent would say."

Romanoff pulled it open, and Cat's heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she pulled the trigger three times, gun facing the floor. No bullets pierced through the floor. Romanoff looked up with an _I told you so_ expression. Cat had backed up against the opposite wall, trying to not let her agitation show.

"That...doesn't prove anything."

"Save it for later. We have to go now."

Cat slung her backpack over a shoulder. "What's the hurry?"

"Your charming principal," Romanoff replied, and pointed to where a balding man was hurrying over to them with hands stained red. Cat stifled a smirk at what was red wine on his hands.

"That's our cue to go." Romanoff said.

Cat clutched the straps of her backpack. "I'm ready." And she meant more than escape from George's clutches. She was ready to start anew get away from Oat, George, the orphanage, the mess she had made here. She would likely make just as much as a mess with the next one, but she was starting on a clean slate.

"Let's go."


	4. Chapter 4: The Drive

_She wore black._

 _Black boots, leggings, and a dark hat even though it was sunny outside. Her dark silky dress and matching coat might have even been pretty if everything hadn't looked like mess to her eyes. She was a cute little six year old, but her face was drenched in sadness. Although her cheeks still held that uncomfortable feeling of tears having dried on them, she conveyed an ice cold exterior that was strange on someone so young._

What a tragic incident, _people kept on saying._ Poor kid, having lost their parents.

 _She hated the words. How dare they say anything about them. They didn't know what it was like. They hadn't even known her parents that well. So-called "aunts" and "uncles" that she had never met in her life, "friends" from work who gossiped at a_ funeral _, of all places, and those strange people that stood somberly at the front, not in tears but simply still. Grieving._

 _She held the fluorescent flowers in her hands. Orange and purple, her parents' favorite colors. Strangely, it was her mother who had liked the orange and her father who had liked purple. She was trembling like Jell-O on the inside. Her palms were sweaty and even as a pleasant summer breeze tickled her face, she felt sticky and gross._

 _One foot in front of the other, she told herself as she stepped up the aisle. She couldn't help but notice the pity on people's faces. It was because she was alone. If it was one of her uncle who had died, she would have stepped up to the casket with her parents to help her through it. They would have squeezed her hand gently, patted her a little on the back. Maybe even wipe the tear stains off her wet face. She felt cold, knowing that they could have been there, if only it wasn't for the accident._

 _It was oddly sunny outside that day, she thought. A nice day, blue skies with not a single cloud in sight. She had always thought funerals were cold and rainy to wash away the sadness. No, it was warm and delightful, but the tense atmosphere spoiled it all. People sat rigidly, hands clenched in their laps. Most of their faces held a respective sadness, but a select few looked bored. Cat didn't even know most of them. Another step forward. The toe of her polished boots gleamed. She snuck a glance at the twin matching caskets just a few feet away from her._

 _Her parents laid in those caskets._

 _The flowers trembled in her hands. Memories flooded back to her. Not the bad ones, just the good ones._

 _Her mother holding the_ Goodnight Moon _book in her hands with a raise of her eyebrows._

 _Her father laughing loudly, a laugh that made his smile lines more prominent and his teeth even whiter._

 _Her mother again, waving her off on her first day of preschool with a mouthed_ don't kill anyone _._

 _Her father's grinning eyes, same chocolate brown orbs as hers._

 _The flowery smell of her mother's hair after she had stepped out of the shower._

 _The memories switching back and forth. An unexpected burst of anger caught her in the middle of it, interrupting her thought process._

 _Why was it all of the good people who died?_

 _Her parents weren't perfect. But they worked hard, and tried to make time for her the best they could in the middle. Now that was all gone. No one to make an it's-so-bad-it's-good joke to cheer her up. No one to punch or laugh with or cry or smile. It was all gone. Cat felt, literally felt, their absence as she took her final steps up to the caskets. She noticed they'd been lowered so she could reach them._

 _Her hands shuddered, and she felt a brief wave of shame for being so frightened. She smoothened out her face and ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the casket. She couldn't remember if it was her mother's or her father's. Was that a bad thing? It didn't matter, because she did the same thing to the other one. They were like two halves to a whole, meant to be together._

 _She really needed to stop imagining her parent's voices in her head, it just made the pain worse, she thought off handedly and the bald man in the gray suit gave her a nod, her cue._

 _Her heart ached and tears burned at the back of her eyelids. But no. She wouldn't cry. She'd be strong, brave. Like her parents were. Like they'd want her to be. She did it with a determined clench of her jaw and closed her eyes for her last goodbye, memorizing the orange and purple hues. She imagined her father's approving nod and her mother's hand grazing her jaw when she whispered her last words to them._

" _I love you."_

 _She set the flowers down._

* * *

 _ **PRESENT CAT:**_

Cat didn't remember falling asleep. Falling asleep in a stranger's car made her feel uncomfortable, it made her look too vulnerable. But the drive to New York was so LONG. How far away did New York have to be, anyway? Romanoff seemed to have memorized the way back, because she hadn't needed a GPS, which meant Cat had no way to check how much longer the ride was going to be. Cat had alternated between staring out the window and being bored out of her mind, before drifting off.

It was a mistake. She had The Dream again. It was vivid, more than it had been for the past year. It felt like everything was happening for the second time(or more, counting how many times she'd dreamt it before). She could recall everything; how she felt, how everything looked, the expressions of the people around her, the tension in the air. It was so familiar that it physically hurt. The real event probably took only about five minutes, but it felt like everything was happening in slow motion.

Then Cat woke up. She felt her breathing speed up, and then slow down as she regained control of herself. She didn't feel like she had the strength to pry open her eyes. The memory of the two twin caskets was burned fresh in her brain. The flowers, purple and orange. Just the colors nearly brought tears to her eyes. It had been two years since they'd gone, and her life was a mess. How had they managed to make everything seem so _right_ , so much better? She missed them so much.

But she knew it wasn't the time to cry. Cat imagined gathering up all of her memories and placing them into a box.

Her therapist(back when she still _had_ a therapist) had told her, _When you're done with that, seal the box and shove it to the back of your memory._

She seal the box tight and pushed it to the back of her mind.

Then someone's fingers grabbed her shoulder.

The move was sudden, quick, and so expected that for a moment it was her uncle's hands reaching toward her, about to deliver the worst he had. Cat flinched and started so bad that she strained against the seat belt. When nothing came, she relaxed in her seat, breathing quicker than normal. Cat opened her eyes and looked around for the source of panic. A flash of red hair glinted in the dim lighting.

A flush crept up Cat's neck when she squinted through the dark and realized it was only Romanoff. There was no way to tell if the redhead was judging her or just weirded out. Romanoff's hands weren't on the steering wheel. Cat had been so focused on her thoughts, she hadn't even noticed the car had stopped moving.

"Something wrong?" Romanoff asked casually, like Cat hadn't just had an embarrassing episode in front of her.

Well duh. "Nothing." Cat studied her shoes. She really needed new ones. The soles of her ratty tennis shoes were peeling.

"Mm-hmm." Cat respected how Romanoff could convey so much skepticism into one sound. But to her credit, Romanoff didn't linger on the subject. "You slept for twelve hours?"

Cat nearly sighed in relief. She wasn't sure how she could have explained the small panic thing she just had. "Really? What time is it?"

"1:30 am."

"You haven't slept this entire time?" Cat asked incredulously.

"Believe it or not."

Cat stretched luxuriously in her seat. Romanoff had let her sit in the passenger seat, even though Cat was pretty sure there was a law against that. She was seventy five percent sure it was because the woman hadn't wanted to give her any opportunity to escape. But she hadn't protested, of course. She'd never sat in the front seat. However childish it may sound, it made her feel important. Plus, it gave her more space.

"Why did we stop? Are we here?" Cat looked out the window. Anything to change the subject. It was dark out, with only a few street lights to light the way. They were parked on the side of a highway. A slow moving car rolled by as she watched.

"Pit stop. And I thought you'd want to eat." She pointed to a McDonalds bag and a drink, which Cat eyed with hunger. "It has more calories than I'd like there to be, but we're pretty much in the middle of nowhere right now. So make do with this garbage."

"You didn't get a Happy Meal, did you?" Cat tried to make out a smile on the box. "The name is misleading. The apple slices suck."

"The apple slices are the only healthy thing about Happy Meals," Romanoff pointed out.

"Still disgusting." Cat took the drink and sloshed it around in the cup. "Is this Coke?"

"Unless you'd prefer water."

Cat pretended to be unimpressed. "Actually, I prefer Sprite."

"Deal with it," came Romanoff's completely unsympathetic comment.

Cat reached for the McDonalds bag and dug around. There was a juicy burger and fries at the bottom, wrapped in napkins. Cat discarded the napkins and took out the ketchup packets. She dumped them all over the fries and dug in. Romanoff watched her eat at top speed with a slightly disgusted expression. Cat noticed and said through a mouthful of food, "Don't judge. I haven't eaten in fourteen hours."

Romanoff rolled her eyes and threw one of the napkins at her. "These exist for a reason, you know."

"Napkins are overrated." Cat finished her burger in sixty seconds flat, and then proceed to inhale half her fries before collapsing into her seat. She sighed through her mouth, patting her stomach. "Eating is exhausting, you know."

Romanoff raised an eyebrow at her. Cat realized that her side of the car was littered with burger crumbs and ketchup. Her Coke sat untouched in the cupholder.

"Oh. Sorry," Cat said with a smug smile, not feeling very sorry at all.

"You're cleaning that up later," Romanoff said in her trademark it's-not-a-suggestion-it's-an-order tone.

"Yeah, totally." _But she didn't say_ when _later_ , Cat thought with glee.

"If it stains the car seat, I will kill you," the woman warned.

"That's a little drastic, don't you think?"

Still, Cat smiled nervously and wiped off some of the dark liquid with a napkin. Romanoff looked like she was very serious. And to be honest, the woman still scared her a _lot_. The woman was witty and could show some human traits, but Cat wasn't completely at ease with her. Anyone who thought otherwise was a moron.

And to be fair, the car _was_ very expensive. It was a sleek black Mercedes Benz, with a tan interior. The engine purred when it started, and the wheels were smoother than butter. Cars were cool, Cat thought.

"Do you need to go?" Romanoff pointed to the McDonalds they were parked next to. It took Cat a moment to guess what she was saying.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Go on. I'll be here when you're done." Romanoff huffed impatiently when Cat hesitated, mistrust in her eyes. "I won't ditch you. Go."

Cat gave her a wary glance before opening the door. She hurried back in the car once she was done, drying her hands off on her shirt. Romanoff was watching her with a bemused expression.

"Worried much?"

"I have good reasons...that I will keep to myself."

"Don't worry," Romanoff said with an unconvincing shark-like smile, "I have better things to do than have CPS chase after me for losing a smart mouth little midget."

"What's CPS?" Cat asked, choosing to ignore the insult.

"Child Protective Services."

"They sound like bucket loads of fun."

Romanoff gave a very unladylike snort. She started up the car, and just like that, they were off again.


	5. Chapter 5: Moving Houses

**Disclaimer: Re-read disclaimer from the last chapter**

 **So tired. Enjoy.**

* * *

A few hours later, Cat had eaten so much candy she felt like she was going to vomit gummy bears. One thing she decided she really liked about Romanoff was that the woman didn't nag her about eating too much sugar. She had only made an offhand comment about Cat getting diabetes, and then proceeded to spend the rest of the ride in silence. Which was completely okay with Cat.

Now, she was regretting that.

"I'm sick," she groaned, slumping in her seat, "I feel like dying."

"I warned you."

"Saying 'I told you so' is the extent of your help?" Cat pretended to die dramatically, her head falling limply across her seat belt. "See? I've died."

"Don't be such a baby. All you did was eat a little candy, you'll be fine in a couple of hours."

"Such heartwarming sympathy for a dying child."

Romanoff suddenly made a sharp turn, throwing Cat forward. "We're here."

Cat straightened instantly. "Really? It's about freaking time."

The "house", it turned out, wasn't a house. It was a _mansion_.

"Wow," Cat had said, watching the house nearing with huge eyes, "You're rich."

She could see Romanoff smirk at the edge of her vision. "I'm not _that_ rich. It's not a mansion if that's what you're thinking."

The house was impressive. Romanoff said it was "only" three floors. There was a porch, which was painted white, and a really big yard. Cat spotted one bush that was trimmed in the shape of a dog. The dog was mansion-worthy. The outside of the house was impressive, but the inside...

"Whoa," was the first thing Cat said after she stepped foot into the house.

Everything was in neutral shades of blues and grays, cream colors. An L-shaped expensive-looking sofa full of pillows sat straight across from a mounted flat TV. A spiral staircase lead to a second floor. The walls were creamy white, without a speck of dust. The kitchen was clean and sparkling, the floors looked like the tiles had been set down that morning. It had that new-house smell, wood, and some other scent something that Cat couldn't quite place.

The entire house felt so immaculate and clean. Cat looked down at her ratty Converses, worn shirt, and ripped jeans self consciously, feeling like a giant splotch of mud in the middle of it. She soaked everything about the house up, hardly believing it.

Still, she couldn't help thinking, there was something odd. There were no pictures framed on the walls, no food out on the dining table. The entire house didn't feel quite as _homey_ as the other places Cat had lived in. Even at Kyle's house, there was usually an open pizza box on the table or a picture of his old wife on the desk. In Romanoff's house, there was nothing. An opened cereal box was on the counter, but that was about it.

"What are you waiting for? A bomb to explode?"

Then again, Romanoff didn't strike her as the type of person to have pictures mounted up on the fireplace.

"Nothing." Cat fumbled with the straps of your backpack. "Your house is really...clean."

Romanoff glanced around like she was just noticing that fact. "I guess. Take your shoes off."

Cat slipped them off, placing them carefully on the welcome mat. She glanced down at her feet. She was wearing mismatched socks, one white and one gray. They were different sizes, she realized, and bit back her blush. If Romanoff noticed, she didn't show it. She just shut the door with a slam.

Cat glanced back at her. "Do you have any rules?"

"What?" Romanoff's eyebrows pulled toward each other in confusion.

"Rules," Cat repeated, feeling stupid now, "Y'know. Like, don't eat food upstairs, don't run in the house...stuff like that."

"Oh." She shrugged. "We can make the rules as we go along, I guess. I'll tell you if you shouldn't be doing something. You can go pick a room upstairs if you want."

No rules? That was a nice surprise. Usually foster parents wanted to restrict her with as many of them as possible.

Cat mumbled a quick, "Okay" and started toward the spiraling staircase. Her socks slid across the wooden floor smoothly like she had one of those shoes with wheels on the bottom. She grinned a little and ran across the floor, using her momentum to slide across the floor. It was exactly what she would imagine ice skating would be like. It was so much fun!

All of the sudden, she was reminded of Romanoff's eyes watching her. She stopped, feeling unnaturally self-conscious. Was she being too childish? She felt an unidentifiable emotion, an urge to show Romanoff that she wouldn't be a bother. Cat skidded to a stop next to the stairs. From there, she was extra careful to make as little noise as possible to show that she wouldn't be a disturbance.

The second floor wasn't more different than the first, except the floor was soft carpet. Cat grinned again and darted off to explore. She liked exploring houses. She liked learning the good hiding spots, the twists and turns, and the different rooms. What she liked even more was that one of those rooms could be hers.

Cat learned that Romanoff's house was _huge_. For a woman who talked about not being rich, her house had to be worth a million. Maybe a billion. Or a trillion. Definitely more than your average house. All the foster homes that Cat had lived in before, they were warm and homey, but none of which were especially nice. Cat counted off five bathrooms, four bedrooms, a _lot_ of closets, and who knows what else.

The light switches were awesome. Cat could adjust the lighting just by sliding one of the knobs up and down. Down meant dimmer. Up meant brighter. Cat flicked it on, and off. Okay, so that was cool.

One of the bedrooms was bigger than the rest of them. Of all of the different bedrooms, one of them looked like Romanoff's bedroom. There was a king sized bed, way bigger than one person needed, with the sheets messed up like she had forgotten to make them, a closet full of clothes, a desk, other stuff. Cat was about to shut the door for Romanoff's privacy, but then she saw a _gun._

An actual, real gun. She knew it was real. The one she's seen in Romanoff's purse was possibly fake, but this one was real. Cat knew what a real gun looked like, because of the one time Kyle had gotten a little too tipsy and pulled out one of his firearms. He was too drunk to aim straight, so Cat had escaped through the window and spent her night sleeping on one of the slides on the playground.

Cat's fingers shook as her feet brought her closer and closer to the gun until she was standing right next to the bed. She didn't pay attention to the papers strewn messily across the bed. She lifted the gun with two fingers, careful not to touch the trigger. Wow. That was _heavy._

Suddenly, someone was beside her. Cat recognized the red hair instantly. Romanoff. The woman grabbed Cat's forearm and pried the gun out of her fingers. She set it on the bedside table. Cat spared a glance at her face. Her face, as expected, was relaxed, but Cat saw the tightness of her jaw.

"Why do you have a gun on your bed?" Cat's voice quivered slightly.

"Protection," Romanoff answered plainly, the message in her green eyes making Cat's feet take a step back against her will. _Don't press it._ There was a moment of silence where Cat wondered whether the woman was actually going to kill her. "Did you pick a room?"

The words were left unsaid. _Don't come into my room again,_ her eyes communicated easily. Cat breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Yeah," she said, even though she hadn't.

"You can get yourself situated, then." A clear dismissal.

One by one, her muscles unfroze. Cat hurried off as fast as she could. She ended up picking the one farthest away from Romanoff's room. It had a walk-in closet, a bathroom, and a big window. The bedsheets still had creases in them that showed that they'd either recently been brought out of the package, or no one had used them yet.

Cat set Oat's snow globe next to the nightstand and stuffed her folded clothes into one of the compartments in the walk-in closet. Cat studied the closet, thinking that it looked a little sad. Her oversized, hole-ridden clothes with the hangers and drawers. She took out her notebook and pen and hid them in her pillowcase. She slid her backpack under her bed, with a few packets of candy still in it.

She sat on the bed, unsure of what to do. After unpacking….what now? Did she go downstairs and have another awkward talk with Romanoff? Nope. The woman hadn't left explicit instructions to do after she'd finished unpacking yet. The alarm clock next to the bed blinked 3 am. Had it been that long since she'd left from the foster home?

The bed was really soft, she realized. She seemed to be sinking. Her head was on a pillow. Since when did she get there? A pillow made out of marshmallows. Or maybe bubbles. It did feel like she was floating. Floating and sinking at the same time. Was that even possible? Her thoughts were too loud in her head. She should really stop thinking.

"Sleep," she mumbled. She floated away.

* * *

Cat woke up to the blinding sight of sunlight. She moaned and turned so that her head was buried in the pillow. But that wasn't comfortable either, because she couldn't breathe. She covered her closed eyelids with a forearm and tried her best to fall into blissful sleep again.

 _Nope_ , her subconscious decided, _It's time to WAKE UP!_

 _Five more minutes_ , Cat thought.

Her subconscious didn't like that. _Wake up NOW!_

Cat sat up. She was still wearing the clothes she'd been wearing the night before, but a blanket had been tossed over her sleeping form. She was too tired to question how they had gotten there. She half-rolled, half-slid out of bed. The sunlight was blinding her.

Stupid sun.

She wandered out of her room and slipped down the stairs. The lights were on. Romanoff was sitting at the table, scrolling through her phone while sipping from a steaming mug. Cat's mouth watered. Coffee. She needed coffee. She used to wake up early so that she could sneak into the kitchen and make a cup before anyone else woke up.

Romanoff looked up from her phone and gave Cat a kind-of smile. "It's about time, sleepyhead. You slept for eleven hours."

Cat noticed a clock mounted on the wall and scrunched her eyes, trying to read the time. "It's the afternoon already?"

"It's three-thirty, in fact."

Cat's eyes widened. She'd slept for eleven hours? She'd never slept for that long before, she'd never needed that much sleep anyway. " _Cool_." She eyed the cup. "Is that coffee? 'Cause I'd kill. For coffee."

Romanoff laughed. She seemed to be more relaxed than she had been the other night. "On the counter. That does explain why you're so short."

"I'm not short! I'm _petite_."

"If you say so."

Cat huffed. "Where do you keep your cups?"

Romanoff nodded at the row of glass cabinets on top of the counter. "The one that's the farthest on the left."

Cat looked up, then scowled as she realized that she wasn't tall enough to reach it. She looked toward Romanoff with a frown. Her returning smirk told Cat that she had been aware of that fact. Seriously, that woman was _evil_.

"Would you like some help?" Romanoff asked innocently.

"I can get it," Cat said stubbornly.

She'd show her. Cat grabbed the edge of the counter and clambered on top of it. She stood up, nearly knocking her head on the corner of the cabinet.

"Be careful." Romanoff didn't sound the least bit surprised. Typical, Cat thought.

Cat grabbed a cup from the cabinet. She jumped down from the counter with a self-satisfied expression.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and collapsed onto the table. Romanoff pushed some cream and sugar toward her without looking. She emptied all of it in.

"I have a friend who does that," Romanoff said.

It took a minute for Cat to figure out she was talking to her, because the woman hadn't looked up from her phone. "Does what?"

"Puts an abnormally high amount of sugar in his coffee. He drinks it straight from the jug. He's an unhealthy idiot." Her words were harsh, but her tone was light.

"He sounds cool." Cat took a gulp of coffee. That was _the stuff_.

"I'm sure he'd be thrilled to hear that."

"I'm hungry," Cat announced, after a moment of silence, "Do you have any food besides coffee?"

"I need to make a run to the grocery store, actually. We can pick up food on the way."

Cat's eyes lit up. "I'm coming?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure it's illegal to leave an eight-year-old alone in the United States."

"I'll have you know, I'm turning nine in three weeks." Cat picked up her coffee. "And hurry, I'm starving."

"Children," Romanoff sighed and grabbed her keys.

* * *

 **You know the saying, a review day keeps the Chitauri** **away.**


	6. Chapter 6: Clint Who?

**Whoa. 44 Favorites, 93 Follows, and 38 Reviews? Whoa.**

 **This chapter was a little later than usual, so SORRY! The next one will be quicker, hopefully.**

* * *

When Clint Barton appeared at his partner's new house to surprise her, he expected a beautiful redhead to open the door. He did not expect the golden haired, brown eyed girl to stare at him in a very uncomfortable way after the door had swung open.

"Who're you?" she asked, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. She looked on the verge of slamming the door in his face.

Clint felt like he was paralyzed. That was _exactly_ the way Natasha looked when she was annoyed. He finally found his voice and managed to say, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Cat," she told him with a sweet voice that clashed with the annoyance on her face, "And I think you have the wrong house."

Clint checked the address. There was no way he had the wrong house. "No, I'm pretty sure this is the right house."

She shrugged. Clint noticed she was wearing a shirt that reached her thighs and jeans that stopped at mid-shin. "Maybe you do, and maybe you don't. Why don't you check the house on the left? There's an old lady who has like five million cats. She seems like your type."

"Hey," he frowned, "I am very proudly a dog person. In fact, you should be the cat person. Your name is literally _Cat_."

She huffed _very_ indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why does that mean I should like cats? It's not like I cough up hairballs and lick my paws when I wake up in the morning."

"I'm just saying. Your name _is_ Cat. It's basically destiny."

"You don't look like someone who believes in destiny."

"How would you know that?" Clint challenged. Was he seriously getting into an argument with a random kid he'd just met? Still, she was kind of cute.

"I just know."

Of course. Kid logic. He wasn't going to win this argument. He gave her a charming smile. "Okay, fine. You're a dog person. But is there anyone else living here-"

"Clint?"

A voice so familiar that it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "What are you doing on my porch?" Nat leaned on the doorframe, looking like she'd just showered. Her hair was slightly wet, but as usual, straightened out to perfection. Wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants, looking casual yet deadly. She could pull off that look effortlessly.

"Loitering and disturbing private property," the blonde girl answered for him.

"Nat!" he whined, half joking, "Your midget is insulting me."

"I'm not a midget! And I don't belong to anyone." Cat punched him on the arm. Clint winced. He had been punched by a lot of people, and he'd been trained to tolerate it. But damn. That _hurt_. Who knew a kid the size of a gnat could punch so hard?

"Good job, Cat." Nat patted the demon child on the head, although Cat stepped away quickly. "Keep punching the idiot."

"Great, there are two of you now?"

Cat knocked him in the chest. Hard.

"Ow!" Clint protested. "Your midget is hurting me!"

"You're a big boy, you can deal with it," Natasha smirked. Clint knew her well enough to tell that underneath that smirk, there was fondness.

Clint had tons of questions to ask. Like, who was the kid? How did she get there? Why was she so freaking strong? He pouted like the full grown adult he was. "C'mon, Nat. Let me in."

"No. Why are you here anyway?"

Clint pretended to clutch at his heart. "Do I need a reason to visit my favorite partner?"

Cat's head whipped up fast. "Partner?"

"He's a coworker," Nat said with a warning edge to her voice that only Clint caught.

Oh! Wait. Did she not know? Shoot. He needed to cut back on the assassin jokes, then.

"She says that, but deep down, we're friends." Clint told Cat, "And she wants to desperately fling herself into my arms right now, but she's physically restraining herself because she needs to keep the whole 'Ice Queen' cover."

Nat punched him hard in the shoulder. He thought he heard something pop. "Say that again and I…" She glanced at Cat quickly. "...do something I'll regret."

 _Nice save._ Clint recoiled. "Okay, okay. Does that mean I can come in?"

Natasha sighed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like _Overgrown child_. "Fine. Come in."

Clint smiled. He'd missed that husky voice. Cat, giving him a sideways glance, elbowed him hard.

"Ow! Stop that!"

She smirked, and Clint wondered if she was some evil clone of Natasha's or something.

* * *

Clint was seated at Natasha's kitchen table, sipping from a mug of coffee. He was already on his second cup. Cat had seated herself on the couch and was flipping through the channels with a bored expression. Clint nodded at the blonde girl.

"Where'd you pick her up?" he asked, keeping his voice low. They weren't in Cat's hearing range, but he wanted to be cautious anyhow.

"Foster care," Natasha answered vaguely.

"Did you know-"

"-that she existed? No. I got a call one day, and then all of the sudden Coulson is persuading me to keep the girl."

"Wait, Coulson knows?" Clint said with a hint of betrayal in his voice.

"Yes," Nat said, paying his hurt no mind, "And he seems to be completely fine with it."

Clint pouted. "You told him before you told me?"

Of course, he was fixated on that fact rather than the fact that she had taken in a child. The arrogant bastard. "Don't be getting jealous, Barton. He was there when I had the phone call. And he fixed up the house for me. After taking the money out of my paycheck, of course." She snorted lightly.

Clint looked around the magnificent house and nodded approvingly. "The man's got good taste."

"It's not bad," Natasha smirked. "And having a jacuzzi in the backyard is a nice plus."

Clint whistled, feeling a little jealous. "Sweet." He fixed piercing blue eyes on her, turning serious. "Do you like her?"

Natasha didn't look the least surprised in his quick change in subject. She drank from her cup. "That's a complicated question, Clint."

"Do you feel like you made the right call?"

A lapse of silence passed where Nat appeared to be thinking her answer through.

"I don't know," Natasha said finally, "Did I?"

If Clint had been anyone else, he wouldn't have caught the traces of unsureness in the tones of her voice. Clint had seen Natasha beat up guys twice her size and barely bat an eye. She's faced off in a staring contest with Nick Fury. She's gotten more red in her ledger than she wants, and she wants to change that. She's one of the most fearless, stubborn people Clint knows. Possibly the most. Yet the arrival of one blonde haired girl scares her more than she's willing to admit. Contrary to popular belief, Clint _can_ sit down and have a serious conversation with his longtime partner. He waits patiently for her to continue.

"She's intelligent, I'll give her that," Natasha says, guarded, "She knows there's something off about me. I've read her file. She's had a dark past."

The way Natasha's eyes darkened told him there was more to the story. Clint didn't push, especially since the topic of their conversation was sitting fifteen feet away.

"She's also stubborn as hell."

"Reminds me of someone I know." Clint said, "Is the mighty Widow growing soft?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. Clint had a brief half-second to think _Oh, no_ before she viciously stomped on his foot with the heel of her foot. Clint wasn't able to move his foot in time. His toes flared in pain. " _Ow_!" he hissed, "Violence, woman!"

"Man up," she scoffed.

He tried to step on her foot in retaliation, but she saw it coming and moved her foot in time so that he kicked at air. They ended up struggling wildly but silently under the table, trying their best to kick each other. Clint landed a direct hit to her knee. She nearly tipped his chair over with a nudge of her foot, but he caught himself just in time. Mid-fight, he couldn't hold back a smile. Everything was so damn reminiscent.

She paused. "What are you smiling at?"

"You," he said cheekily.

Nat looked like she was about to punch him again. Clint inched away from her as a precaution. "You are so cheesy."

"You know you love me."

"You wish, Barton."

"Can you two stop gossiping and shut up?" Cat called rudely across the living room. "I'm trying to watch here!"

Clint smirked at the redhead and made his voice a quiet rumble. "I see she's channeling your spirit already. How long has she been here?"

"Two days now," she responded in the same pitch.

Clint shook his head and gave her a half smile. "Two days, and you're already tainting her. Soon she'll have red hair and knives strapped to her thighs."

"No. I'm not dragging an innocent kid into our screwed up lives." Natasha surprised Clint with the suddenness of her actions. Her voice was ice cold and her eyes were burning in that way that said that she'd easily kill anyone who got in her way. Clint knew that she was remembering her days as a weapon, her assassin days in the KBG.

"That's not what I meant, Nat," Clint said softly.

She exhaled, too soft to be a sigh but too loud to be a normal breath. "I know."

"Are you going to stop doing missions now?"

Her head snapped up like she'd been struck by lightning. "Why the hell would you say that?"

Clint met her gaze calmly. "I'm just being realistic. Raising a kid is a responsibility, Nat. You can't just leave her at the house every time you get a mission."

"I won't. I'll get a babysitter."

Clint sighed. "She'll have babysitters following her around 24/7 if you keep doing missions at your usual rate. You're in danger nearly every day. There's always a chance of you dying, and what'll happen to Cat then?"

"You'll take her," Natasha said with little hesitation, "And you're underestimating me. I've survived this far, haven't I? Our success rate is the highest in SHIELD."

"We're SHIELD's best agents," Clint agreed with her, "We're also one of the most wanted people in the US. Having a kid around is dangerous. We can't just pause in saving the world to take care of a kid."

"'Saving the world' is a little drastic, Clint."

He shrugged. "Just adding in my two cents."

"I'll figure it out as I go," Nat said nonchalantly. Clint figure she'd just ignored pretty much everything he'd just said.

He sighed. "I hope nothing happens because of this.

* * *

Cat finally found a channel she liked. National Geographic. She was five minutes into watching penguins' mating habits when the TV clicked off. She made a noise of annoyance.

"Sorry, kid." A brown haired man was holding the remote. Natasha had called him 'Clint'.

"I was watching." She pouted.

"Wanna go somewhere fun?" he asked her.

She looked up at him. "Really?"

Clint smiled at her. It was a friendly smile, and she didn't trust it. "Sure, why not? Nat's out for the moment. She went shopping. Let's have some fun while she's gone."

Cat had to think who 'Nat' was. A moment later, she realized that was a silly question. Who else could it have been except Romanoff? She smiled because it was funny that someone as intimidating could be referred by a pet name.

"Yeah, okay!" Cat beamed at him.

"Cool!" His eyes were excited, like a puppy's. "You ever been to Six Flags, kid?"

She shook her head. "No."

He froze. "Are you kidding me- That's it, I'm taking you to Six Flags." He waved her to the door. "C'mon, hurry. We've got a few hours before Nat comes back."

"Have you known her for a long time?" Cat asked him as they rushed outside. Clint fumbled with the keys, locking the door, before jumping in a black car. It was similar to the one Natasha had driven.

" _Long_ time. You've got no idea."

"Yeah, I figured. You called her 'Nat' when no one else does, and she's pretty scary."

"It took me a long time to convince her to let me call her that. The first time I did it, she kicked me in the nuts." Clint winced right after he finished his sentence like he'd said something he wasn't supposed to.

"What?"

"Nothing." He started up the car.

Before she could ask what he meant by that, he started the car. Clint, she learned, drove like a crazy man. He ran red lights, drove at least two times the speed limit, and took sharp turns and twists that left half of the rubber on the road.

And she _loved_ it. Cat whooped as the wind blew her hair wildly.

"We haven't even started yet!" Clint hollered. His sunglasses had flown off halfway, and they were dangling from one ear. He shook them off, and they clattered to the floor. His hair was messy and his eyes were bright. He was crazy.

He nearly swerved into a car. Cat told him to "Shut up and drive!"

But she was too busy yelling in the wind to say anything else. It was amazing. Her words got tangled and lost in the wind, making her feel like she could yell for hours and no one would care. All her thoughts were in capital letters and she couldn't make them stop. It was the most stupid, dangerous thing she's ever done, but it was also fun. She knew that Clint wouldn't crash into anyone. He was too good of a driver for that.

They were speeding down the highway, switching lanes and cutting in front of cars. The people in the cars around them were slamming their horns.

Cat stuck her head out the window to shout something unpleasant, but Clint pulled her back.

"DON'T DO THAT-"

But Cat had already seen the lights and heard the blaring sirens. "CLINT! DRIVE FASTER, THE POLICE ARE AFTER US!"

She heard him curse clearly over the wind. He glanced at her. "You didn't hear that."

"I didn't hear that," she repeated.

It turned out, as well as being an excellent potential wheelman, Clint had a knack for losing the police. He drove into other lanes. He made U-turns that sent them skidding on the road. He slowed down randomly and then sped up. They lost the police easily.

Cat leaned back in her seat, the action draining out of her bones. That was _crazy_. They could've gotten arrested! Still, she had to admit."You're good at this." So good that she had to wonder...how exactly did he get so good at losing the police?

"Of course I am. But as a side note, let's never do that again." Clint looked out the window. "Hey, look where we are."

Cat pressed her hands on the window. Six Flags was exactly how it looked on advertisements. It looked exploding with rollercoasters, people, and fun. "Whoa," she breathed.

* * *

 **Did you like Clint and Cat? Tell me in the reviews!**


	7. Chapter 7: Six Flags Is Fun

**Pretty sure every author has said something like this, but sorry for the wait. I'm currently busy with school, tests, updating another fanfic, and writing other stuff when I have no inspiration. I'm so shocked we have 113 Follows and 59 Favorites now! You guys are all so amazing.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't make money off this stuff.**

* * *

"Clint, can we go now?"

He fired another round of darts without looking up. There was a cacophony of balloons popping. So far, he hadn't missed once. "Tired of me already?"

Cat sighed once, spinning herself around on the spindly chairs. "No, I'm tired of watching you shoot balloons."

"I recall _you_ being the one who dragged me here in the first place."

"Yes, well..." Cat looked distastefully at the booth man, who was greedily counting his bills one by one.

"This isn't fun?" Clint looked nearly hurt.

"I was excited at the beginning, but winning stuffed animals gets old after a while."

It was true. Clint was seemingly good at every game they played: tossing hoops into Coca Cola bottles, knocking the poor dunking guy in the dunk tank, knocking down things with bean bags, making baskets, pretty much every carnival game they had. And he was _destroying_ all of the balloons. While he complained it being too easy, he'd already played it six times. Once he stood ten feet away and only shot when most people were out of the way. They had a herd of stuffed animals compiled of teddy bears, wild animals, penguins because Cat had taken a liking to them, and cartoon characters that Cat had never seen before. Clint was dragging them around in a trash bag he had managed to swipe from the cleaning guy.

"Hey, there's a prize at the end." She wasn't particularly thrilled about that, either. "Just a _bit_ longer," Clint promised her, "Then we can go on the rides again."

They had gone on most of the roller coasters. Cat decided that she liked fast rides but she hated the steep drops. Clint had hollered and whooped on every single one like a kid. Cat was exhilarated and scared at the same time, trying not to scream girlishly. Clint had got her a few souvenirs. A pen and a penguin keychain.

After that, Cat had persuaded Clint to try some of the carnival games and now was desperately regretting that decision. It was hot and suffocating. They were sitting in the shade, but it was still humid. Sweat beads were forming on her forehead, and sliding down her face. At least while they were going on rides there was a welcome breeze.

"Can I go buy a Sprite?"

Clint dug in his pocket for change and came up with a few dollars. "Yeah, sure. Be back in a few minutes, and don't get lost."

* * *

The line for the vendor was longer than she had expected, and she got bored waiting in line. Patience was not one of her virtues. That was expected from a kid who had ADHD. After a few minutes of nothing but waiting in line, she saw a ride whiz pass. A dozen people on it were hollering and waving their hands in the air. A metaphorical light bulb lit up in her head.

She snuck a look back at Clint. He was still crouched at the booth, his sniper rifle aimed at the wall of balloons. She looked back at the ride. The line wasn't far. If she went to the line now, she'd be able to get on and get back before Clint noticed she was gone.

She turned, going to ditch the line, and accidentally slammed into a person. It was like walking into a wall. She managed to regain her balance before falling, but the other person wasn't so lucky. She heard a _thump_ as they hit the ground.

"Hey, brat!" The angry kid who she had walked into was sitting on the ground. He was also waiting for the line. He got up, indignantly brushing the dust off his shorts. "You just stepped on my brand-new shoes!"

Cat turned and scanned him up and down slowly. He was wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts. His hair was sleekly brushed aside with what looked like an entire tube of hair gel, but a few had fallen out of place from the fall. He was clutching a fistful of money in his hand. He was a few years older than her. She had heard stereotypes about stupid rich kids, and this boy ticketed every box.

"I stepped on your _brand new shoes_? I'm _so_ sorry." Cat apologized with false sincerity, "Did you break a nail?"

He snarled, showing sharp teeth. "Shut it, little girl." He shoved her, hard.

The heat was getting to her, making her hot, tired, and irritable. She shoved him right back so hard he stumbled. "Don't tell me what to do, Jerkface."

Jerkface looked a little taken aback, clearly not expecting that. He must've been used to people obeying his every command. He recovered quickly, and got all up in her face. "Do you know who my father is? He'll have you-"

"Yeah?" she asked aggressively, taking a step forward. She was at least seven inches shorter than him, but he was the one who took a step back.

"Hey, kiddos, break it up," a tall man called from behind. "Where're your parents, anyway?"

Cat glared. "None of your beeswax."

"Aren't you gonna apologize for ruining my shoes?" Jerkface demanded. He showed them to her. They looked perfectly fine to her. Sports shoes, even though it was clear he was too worried about keeping his hair immaculate rather than sweat on the bleachers.

"No," Cat said shortly, and then moved up the line.

Jerkface stayed quiet for a few moments. Cat guessed he was contemplating his witty comeback. When she turned around to check if he was still mad, he was nowhere in sight. The tall man who had asked where their parents were was behind her instead. He probably went to cry to his mommy.

She stood in line for another five minutes before she reached the front. She leaned forward on her tippy-toes, and told the lady she wanted a Sprite.

"Sure thing, sweetheart. Comin' right up."

Not three seconds after the woman had handed her the Sprite, Clint ran up to Cat. He'd ditched the shooting game.

"C'mon, Cat. We need to go."

The urgency in his voice told her it was not a joke. Cat looked at him, brow furrowing in concern. "What's wrong, Clint?"

"A lot of things are wrong. First, the damn man didn't give me my prize. Also, Nat is going to have my head if we're not back before she gets home," Clint informed grimly, starting off at a brisk run, "Which is probably-" He checked his watch and cursed. "-within the next ten minutes."

Cat started running after him, her short legs struggling to match up with his large strides. He wasn't even running that fast. It was one of the times she wished she was taller. "Why...didn't…..we just go earlier?" she puffed.

"Uh...I lost track of time," he answered sheepishly.

Cat half-puffed out a breath, half-scoffed. "Well of _course_ you did."

"In my defense, I did win an entire army of stuffed animals large enough to fill your room."

Cat saw the overflowing trash bag and thought of something. "Won't Romanoff notice if we're lugging around a huge bag of stuffed animals?"

Clint stopped running so suddenly Cat nearly ran into him. His eyes grew remorseful, giving the bag a sad puppy dog face. "I've got an idea." He spotted an awfully pregnant woman holding her husband's hand. "Ma'am! Ma'am! I just noticed you have a newborn on the way and would like to say congratulations. How far along are you?"

She looked startled and a little scared. "Uh, six months."

Her husband stepped forward menacingly. "What do you want with her?" He was shorter than Clint and looked a little intimidated at the prospect of facing the bigger, more muscular man, but still fierce when it came to protecting his wife.

Clint waved him off casually. "Back off, man, I just wanted to say congrats." He gave her the bag of stuffed animals and smiled winningly. "Here are some stuffed animals for your future child. Congratulations again!"

Then Clint pulled a shell-shocked Cat out of her daze and they took off again, leaving a very confused pregnant woman in their midst.

"You just gave a random woman you've never met a trash bag filled with stuffed animals."

"As you said, Nat is gonna be suspicious."

"I didn't mean like give away the bag to a stranger!"

"Well, what would have you liked me to do?"

Cat stayed silent. Partially because she couldn't think of a counter-argument to that, and partially because she was out of breath from running. After a few beats of silence, she said, "I wanted the penguin."

"Hey," Clint voice became unusually soft, "We can get you a new penguin."

Cat became awkward because that was not what she meant at _all_. She didn't mean to sound like a spoiled brat. She'd expected Clint to laugh at her for being such a child, and maybe she'd follow up with a witty retort of some kind. Why couldn't he just make fun of her like a normal person, and not leave her feeling stupid and awkward? She wasn't used to people actually being genuinely kind to her. It was things like those that ruined the conversation.

"No, I don't want some stupid penguin anyway."

She saw him frown at the edge of her vision. "Okay. We don't have to."

They bypassed security. Clint said it would be "faster" if they climbed a fence instead. He gave her a piggyback ride, which made her uncomfortable and told her to hang on tight. He scaled the fence and dropped down to the other side in five seconds flat. They found their car parked clumsily amongst the sea of cars. Cat called shotgun and dared Clint to challenge her.

"That's not that safe," he told her.

"Neither is life," she told him, and left it at that.

"We're going to break every traffic law in the existence of traffic laws," Clint told her as they buckled up.

Getting back from Six Flags was a twenty minute drive, according to the GPS. Clint made it seven and a half. Even so, he looked at his watch. Why was he so nervous?

The way he was acting, Cat figured getting Romanoff pissed was a very bad thing. She was beginning to harbor a healthy sense of wariness of the red-haired woman herself. She had already been on guard with the woman, but seeing Clint worried was one thing that made her confused. Clint was cocky, irritable, and arrogant. In the barely-twenty-four hours she'd known him, she'd pegged him as the type who didn't get scared at _anything_. (And she was pretty good at reading people.)

But as worried as Clint was, he didn't seem _terrified_ of Natasha. The way they interacted with each other, they must've been pretty close. And unless Cat had missed a very crucial lesson in kindergarten, friends didn't kill each other. So she wasn't _scared_ -scared. Only a little scared.

"Will she be mad if we're not there?"

"No, not mad." Clint smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "She'll be pissed."

"How long have you two known each other?" Cat asked.

"It seems like forever. We had a bit of a...rough beginning, you could say," Clint said with a bittersweet look in his eyes, reminiscing the past. "But now we're friends. A little more than that, maybe."

"You call her 'Nat' and 'Tasha'. You must know her really well."

"Yeah, I guess. The first time I called her Tasha, she kicked me off a ledge and I fell into a lake. It was January." He laughed. "It's kind of funny, now that I think about it."

"How did you get out?"

"I had to climb up the goddamn rock," Clint said, not looking so amused now. "But I made sure she paid for it."

"So if you know her so well, then why are you so worried that she's going to kill you?"

"Women can be dangerous creatures," Clint told her seriously, "Especially a woman like Natasha. Oh, and she won't kill me. Lightly maim, more likely."

Cat couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She felt like she didn't want to know.

Clint's phone buzzed. A text from "NR" filled the screen. Cat leaned over to see it. It read _I'm home. -NR_

Oh. Now she knew what Clint meant. How could two simple words trigger such a high amount of fear?

Clint glanced at the time. "Dammit. We're not going to make it."

"What do we do now?"

"This," was Clint's very reassuring response.

He suddenly veered off the road and turned ninety degrees into a gas station. Cat's entire body was thrown sideways against her will, and her face got squished against the window. She swore she heard the tires _squeal_ as they skidded across the pavement before resting to a stop. She slammed back into the seat, shaken.

Clint looked over at her, looking apologetic but unruffled. "Are you okay?"

Her back hurt, but otherwise nothing. "Yeah."

"Sorry."

Cat squinted out the window. "Why are we at a gas station? You have seventy miles left."

Clint was already out the car when she looked back. She scrambled out of the car to follow him. He was heading to a small convenience store. Cat was confused but went in after him. The bell dinged when they pushed open the door, and the smell of junk food concealed in easy-to-open wrappers hit Cat in the face. There was a lone cashier sitting at the counter, eyes closed and nodding his head to the blasting music. He barely noticed their arrival.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Well, we're obviously not going to make it before she does," Clint said calmly, "So I've come up with a backup plan." The way he said it sounded silly on its own. And then after he pointed at the rows of beverages inside the refrigerators like they were their saviors, Cat couldn't contain her giggle.

" _Milk_ is your awesome backup plan?"

"Of course. Never underestimate the power of milk. Oh, and chocolate." He grabbed a few king size Hershey bars off of the counter. "Nat loves chocolate. I like to think of it as one of her few weaknesses, second only to coffee."

"Okay, so your plan is to bribe her into not killing you?"

Clint gave her a disappointed look. "No. No, of course not. Bribery never works with Nat. That woman can sniff out lies like a bloodhound." Cat made a mental note of that. "This is our cover story. We noticed that there was no milk left in the fridge, so we graciously went out and did half of her grocery shopping for her."

"That's not a very good plan."

"Always so cynical. You just wait and see," he said confidently.

"I'll bet you twenty bucks it won't work."

"I'll take that bet."

Clint looked around. "And while we're here, grab what you like. If I were you, I'd stock up on junk food. Nat would do anything to make sure you stay healthy, and it's in my best interest as a kid-friendly adult to warn you about that."

Five minutes later, they were carrying bags of junk food and running back to the car. Cat got in first and slid in. Clint took the wheel and after making sure Cat had her seat belt on, Clint stepped on the gas pedal.

"Can you teach me how to drive?"

"Now?"

"Not now, obviously. But sometime."

Clint gave her a quick look. "You'd want me around?"

Did she just give him an invitation? She didn't really mind, she realized. "I guess I could tolerate you if you let me drive sometime."

"Not my baby," Clint said protectively, running his hands up and down the steering wheel. "But maybe sometime. When you're older."

"Then it's a deal."

Clint snorted in amusement. "Okay, let's wait and see if we survive Nat before we make deals, all right?"

"Yeah, speaking of her, you're _so_ owing me twenty bucks on that bet," Cat muttered.

* * *

Cat could tell Natasha was onto them the moment they walked through the door. She was sprawled out on the couch, casually watching a cheesy soap opera. The woman on the TV was gasping when she turned the TV off. She stood up and leveled Clint with a terrifyingly neutral stare.

He spoke first. "We went out to buy milk." He held up the gallon. "The fridge was empty."

She looked like she was on the verge of rolling her eyes. "We have milk. Two cartons of it."

"Really?" Clint feigned confusion. "There wasn't any when we left."

"That's funny, considering you already knew there was milk because you used the very substance for your goddamn caffeinated sugar drink this morning right after you barged in the door."

"We also got some…" Clint snuck a look in their bags. "Granola bars."

"And chocolate. And ice cream." Cat added helpfully. "And soda."

Clint shot her a look that told her she was _not_ helping. Natasha saw this and became only more suspicious.

"That doesn't answer my question, Barton. Why would you get milk?"

"Well, the more milk the better, right?" he said cheerfully, "Milk is great."

Cat coughed into her elbow to hide her laugh. Clint gave her a _look_. She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject, "So, uh. Did you have fun shopping?"

"No, it was awful," Natasha said dryly. "Your new clothes are upstairs, by the way."

Cat's jaw slackened. "You went shopping for _me_?"

"All you had were rags and ripped clothing. Very unfashionable."

"Thanks a lot," she said, but on the inside was beaming with delight.

"But that doesn't answer my question." Natasha looked back at Clint with a determined expression. "The fact that you're not answering it, makes me think that you _did_ go somewhere you weren't supposed to."

Behind Natasha's back, Cat, taking sympathy on Clint, mouthed 'run' and motioned at the open door. He saw his cue and took it.

"Hey, I just remembered some important paperwork I had to do! It's very very important, so I better get to it quickly. See you later, Tasha! Bye, Cat!" He ran out the door and was gone faster than Natasha could yell out a protest.

Natasha growled after his retreating back. "That moron avoids paperwork like the plague."

Cat gulped when Nat turned her fierce green eyes on her. "Um. I just remembered some important... stuff I have to do upstairs. Unpacking and such. In my room. Alone. Okay, better get to it now. Bye!"

She fled upstairs and slammed the door. And breathed a sigh of relief. She heard Natasha yell, "We're not done talking about this!" through the wooden door.

She was _not_ looking forward to that conversation. But on the bright side, Clint officially owed her twenty bucks. She couldn't help but smile at that.


	8. Chapter 8: School Is Boring

Two weeks passed fairly quickly. During the time of those two weeks, "Romanoff" became "Natasha" in her head.

Clint had returned briefly. Natasha managed to wrestle the truth out of him, which was at the least, entertaining to watch. She only had to whisper something in his ear, which had made Clint turn an interesting shade of green. The weakling never stood a chance.

And he _still_ owed her twenty bucks. He argued that his "milk ruse" worked, which was ridiculous. Cat couldn't argue, because Natasha kicked him out quickly after that.

Cat quickly adjusted to her new life. She couldn't read Natasha like a book like she could most people, which annoyed her to no end. Natasha had an awful habit of doing spontaneously nice things that caught her off guard, like randomly showing up with hot chocolate in the middle of the night after she'd woken up from a vicious nightmare. Cat couldn't decide if she liked or hated it.

One day, Cat was startled awake by having his pillow viciously yanked out from beneath her head. She cursed as her head hit the mattress, waking up instantly. She sat up in her bed, preparing to fight whoever had disturbed her REM sleep.

But she relaxed when she saw that it was just Natasha, who was holding her pillow without a trace of a sheepish expression. "Time to wake up, sleepyhead."

"Were you watching me sleep?" Cat slurred sleepily, falling back on her bed.

"Time to get up."

Cat looked beside her bed where her alarm clock was. It was just past eight. "No, it's not. I want my pillow back."

Natasha dropped the pillow on her face with zero amount of gentleness.

"I'm being suffocated," she mumbled under the pillow.

"You're going to school."

That took her by surprise.

Cat bolted up in her bed, all traces of sleepiness vanishing. "No."

Unpleasant memories resurfaced. Being bullied by the older kids. Sitting at lunch by herself. Teachers. Ugh. Don't get her started. Uncomfortable cold classrooms. The strong smell of hand sanitizer and way too much Febreeze. She hated school.

"Interesting, that woke you up quickly." Natasha observed. "I should lead with that next time."

"No. No _next time,_ because I'm not going to school."

"You'll be starting fourth grade," Natasha said, like the matter was settled already.

"I don't need to go."

"Tough luck. It's against the law."

"Following the law is overrated," she countered.

Natasha rubbed at her temples. "God, don't say things like that. You sound like…"

"Who?" Cat pressed. Natasha hadn't told her a peep about her everyday life. She figured the redhead had to have _some_ type of interaction with other human beings, but Cat hadn't been introduced to any friends, family members, or coworkers aside from Clint.

"Like one of my coworkers," Natasha finished smoothly. "You're both annoying persistent and overly obnoxious."

"You think I'm obnoxious?" Cat gave her best sad puppy eyes. Maybe she could _guilt_ her into not letting her go to school.

"Well, you are," Natasha answered, brutally honest.

"It's November," she argued, making another attempt to swindle her, "I'll be behind."

"Not an issue. You're smart. And I already enrolled you two weeks ago and got all of your school supplies." She cocked her head to the side like she had just thought of something. "Today is the first day. Did I forget to mention that?"

Cat sputtered. "No! You did not mention that minor detail!"

"Well, now I have. You might want to get dressed." Natasha scanned Cat up and down, noting the disheveled blonde hair from bedhead. "You have fifteen minutes to get ready before I come up to drag you out." Without giving Cat another word of protest, the woman left the room.

* * *

Sixteen minutes later, Cat was sitting on the bottom of the stairs with her most forceful scowl. Her golden curls were still tangled. She was glaring daggers at her backpack, which was bright pink and had eye scorching butterfly designs on it. It was so bright, it could probably be identified from thirty miles away.

Cat rifled through her school supplies. It looked like Natasha hadn't consulted the shopping list and just thrown some things together. There was a wooden ruler, a calculator that she would most likely not need, a pack of No.2 pencils, erasers, three prong folders, 70-sheet spiral notebooks, an entire pack of red pens, and a D-shaped thing made of plastic.

Natasha walked by, holding her customary cup of coffee, and nodded approvingly. "Nice getup."

Cat was wearing the new clothes Natasha had bought her. A white shirt with a smiling unicorn on it and blue jeans. "Unicorns don't smile."

"How would you know that?"

"Unicorns are essentially horses with a stabby stick on their forehead. Horses don't smile, and so neither should unicorns. Therefore, I declare this shirt a product of false information. Also, this backpack is a fire hazard," she added as an afterthought.

" _So_ dramatic."

"I think this is the right amount of dramatic, actually. Couldn't you have given me a warning before you decided to enroll me in _school_?" She said the word _school_ like she would have said _medival torture devices_. Which was accurate because the two were basically synonyms.

"What difference would that have made?"

"A big one. I would have had time to mentally prepare." Cat gave her large, pleading eyes. "Do I _have_ to go?"

"Required by the law," was all Natasha said in response. "Will you eat now? I'm tired of watching you mope around like a sad puppy."

"I'm not a puppy," she whined.

Natasha leaned against the wall. "Yes, you are. It's depressing to watch. It's school, not torture."

 _Same thing,_ Cat thought, but said nothing. She didn't feel up to a banter. She was busy imagining the ways she could skip class. "Can I be homeschooled?"

Natasha must've taken pity on her, because she shoved a glazed donut at her.

Cat looked at it. "So that's a no."

"Sorry." She looked it, a little.

Cat huffed, knowing that that was all she was going to get from the redhead. She sank her teeth into the glazed moodily. She took her time on it by chewing slowly and tearing only a small piece every time she bit, knowing she was stalling for the inevitable. She was only halfway done when Natasha shook her keys at her and told her it was time to go.

* * *

She was sitting outside the principal's office, her backpack by her feet. The sounds of the young, curly haired receptionist's low voice talking on the phone while rapidly typing something on the keyboard filled the room. The AC was blasting above her head, the wooden chair was uncomfortable, and the quiet that filled the room reminded her of horrible places like hospitals and libraries where the librarian told everyone to "SHHHHHH!"

Cat's palms prickled with sweat. She couldn't stop her fingers from tapping a nervous beat on the armrest. Her leg bounced up and down. She took one, two, three deep breaths and rubbed the sweat off her shaky hands on her jeans.

Natasha was nowhere in sight, having dropped her off at the front and then hurried away to run an errand. Cat was partly annoyed at her for ditching her, but the look on Natasha's face before she'd hurried off had told her it was pretty urgent. Which made her curious. What was alarming enough for the normally cool and composed Natasha Romanoff to look worried?

She had asked a random student where the principal's office was. The receptionist paused her phone conversation to tell her to wait in one of the uncomfortable chairs until the principal was finished with his meeting. Whatever meeting it was, the principal was taking _forever._ What kind of meeting takes that long?

But she was unable to focus on that subject for long. Her thoughts were flitting from one thing to another, the way they did when she was nervous. Her mind turned to the posters on the walls. There said things like _This is a NO BULLY zone_ and _words can hurt_ and other cheesy things. There was a jar of jelly beans on the receptionist's desk for some reason. Cat tried to find a green one.

Suddenly, the door she'd come in from burst open. Her body tensed. A boy walked in the room, wearing a scowl and holding a yellow slip. The receptionist glanced up and shock crossed her face.

"Alex?" she asked. "What are you doing here?"

He crossed the room in a few strides and faced the receptionist so all Cat could see was the back of his dark hair. But she saw him hand her the yellow slip, and his movements were jerky and stiff. "I got a behavior warning." His words, like his movements, were tight. He was _not_ happy about getting a detention.

The receptionist's eyes scanned the paper, her brows drawing closer and closer together. She looked up, face scrunched together in that I'm-disappointed way adults do. "Alex, I wouldn't have expected this from you."

Cat watched him carefully. If it was her, she would have just brushed it off. Her whole life, she'd been criticized for everything under the sun. This boy, was clearly the opposite. His entire body seemed to shrink and his shoulders caved inwards. When he spoke, his words were less jerky and more crestfallen.

Alex's head dipped. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Randy."

His words were filled with such honest conviction it made her want to throw up. Was this guy for real?

The receptionist patted him on the shoulder. Cat noticed she was fond of the boy. "You can take a seat next to Miss Gray."

Alex turned. Cat stared at him. His eyes were green. He looked like a stereotypical nerd. Hair gelled and combed to the side. He wore a button up shirt and… were those _khakis_? Who even wore khakis anymore? She saw him looking at her as well. Their eyes met for a second, then he glanced away.

He plopped down two chairs from her, with a small, barely-a-sigh sigh, and his head dropped back against the wall. He was clenching his fists and blinking rapidly. She could see the frustration radiating off him. Cat was both amused and perplexed. She couldn't imagine having such a reaction to, what, being given a "behavioral warning?"

"Hey," she muttered in a low voice so that Mrs. Randy wouldn't hear. She seemed too absorbed in her phone conversation anyway.

She saw his head turn. He looked at her. "What?"

Cat waited a beat, not sure of what to say. "I'm Cat."

Alex glanced at Mrs. Randy. "My name is Alex."

She nodded. "I know. What'd you do?"

"What?"

"What did you do to get a behavior warning?"

He stared at her accusingly. "You were listening!"

"You were literally right in front of me, so if you're asking if I have ears, then yes I do."

"You shouldn't eavesdrop," he said.

Cat rolled her eyes. "So, what did you do?"

He paused before answering. "I yelled at Mrs. Turpin because she said my answer was wrong. But it _wasn't_ ," he said with fierce conviction, "It wasn't." His voice was growing louder. The receptionist put a hand over the speaker of her phone and signaled for them to be quieter. His head dropped again.

Cat assumed Mrs. Turpin was a teacher. "Maybe she's just a jerk."

As angry as he seemed to be with Turpin, he was hesitant to say that she was a jerk. "That's a bad word. is not a—" He whispered the next word. "— _jerk_. Only when she says that I'm wrong."

"Then maybe you _were_ wrong," she suggested.

His eyes flared with green fire. "No!" He said it so adamantly that Cat backed up in surprise. "I mean, it wasn't. I double-checked it and triple-checked it and quadruple-checked it, and I was _right_! But she wouldn't _listen_!"

Jesus Christ. At this point she wasn't sure what the kid wanted from her.

The receptionist tore the phone from her ear. "Alex!"

Alex flinched like he'd been struck physically. The receptionist sighed.

Cat was confused. "If she was wrong and you were right, why are you so upset?"

"Because she gave me a behavioral warning. My _first_ one. It's going to ruin my record, and my parents will be disappointed in me. I hate it when they're disappointed at me." He blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.

What a stupid reason to cry for, Cat thought. "Well, they'll forgive you eventually, right? That's what families do." Or so she'd been told.

Alex thought about that, then nodded resignedly. "I guess. But my record will be ruined. And it's going to be on my permanent record."

Cat stared at him like he was some alien creature. "So?"

"So? _So?_ " Alex echoed, like he was surprised she had dared to oppose him. " _So,_ it's important."

"Not really. I don't think you should be upset. It's not like your life is going to be ruined because of some stupid behavioral thingy."

Alex looked like he might get fired up again, but at that moment the principal's door swung open. An angry man walked out, looking very professional with an Honest-to-God briefcase and a three piece suit that looked the slightest bit wrinkled. He saw Alex and Cat sitting on the chairs and turned up his nose at them like they were scum at the bottom of his shoe. "Children," he muttered as he stormed past them and yanked open the door.

The owner of the voice was the principal. He stepped out of the door frame. He looked older than Natasha but not quite as old as Uncle Kyle. He kind of looked like a vampire with slicked back hair and pale skin. The bones in his face stuck out. When he smiled, it changed his entire face.

He stuck his hand out. "You must be Catalina Gray."

"Right." His hand swallowed hers as she shook it.

"Cat. Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Nelson, your principal." His gaze landed on Alex, and like Mrs. Randy, he adopted a look of confusion. "Alex? Why are you here?"

Cat gave him a curious look. That was two adults so far.

He swallowed. "I got a behavioral warning."

Mr. Nelson frowned. "Okay. Why don't you two come in."

The principal's office was large. Sticky notes were everywhere— stuck on top of the laptop, walls, even on the desk. The walls were bare, which she was grateful for. She was tired of looking at all of those inspirational posters.

Mr. Nelson took a seat in his spinny chair. Cat and Alex stood in front of him. Although she'd done nothing wrong, Cat had began to feel reminiscent of this position. At her old school, she'd been in the principal's office all the time. The principal opened up his laptop.

He looked up. "Yup...click there...click there…and over there… Finally, here we go. Cat, you'll be in Mrs. Davies' class." He fumbled in his desk for a moment and pulled out a folder. "This is your homework folder. Do you already have your supplies?"

Cat nodded and pointed at her hideous pink backpack.

"Great," he said brightly, "And did you come with your parents?"

"No, they dropped me off at the entrance." No need to say her parents were dead. That would put quite a damper on the mood. And she had enough of people staring at her with pity. It was nice at once, but it got old after a while.

"Alrighty then." He shuffled under his desk longer. He came up with a few documents. Cat scanned them quickly. Standard stuff. Lunch, terms and agreements, teachers, rules, that sort of thing. "Make sure they signs those and hand it in by tomorrow. Do you mind waiting outside until Alex and I finish? Alex can lead you to your classroom."

Cat shrugged. "Sure."

She heard the mumble of voices starting as she shut the door behind her. Mrs. Randy, who was done with her phone call, was watching her computer screen intently. She gave Cat a nod when she exited from the office.

"Are you all set?"

"Yup." Cat sat down on the chair and slumped again. School was already starting to be a bore.

* * *

Alex walked Cat to the classroom. He had come out of the principal's office looking considerably less upset and with a huge relieved smile. He'd told Cat that "You were right!" and now there was a bit of a bounce to his step. The boy was way too happy at the news of not getting into trouble. Cat thought it was a bit odd, but whatever.

The halls of Ruben Elementary were cleaner than her old school's. The water fountains looked new and cleaned. The bathroom doors weren't graffitied over and the walls were smooth and chipped in places, but still new. When she asked about the cleanliness, Alex told her that Ruben was built only five years ago.

"I've been here since kindergarten," he added. "I've lived in this town since forever."

"Cool."

He stopped at a classroom that had ' _Welcome to Mrs. Davies' class!'_ written in fancy script. "There's your classroom." He pointed to the door next to it. "That one's mine."

An awkward pause came between them.

Alex tilted his head at her. "See you at recess?"

The left corner of Cat's mouth lifted up. "Yeah, okay."

Alex smiled, relieved. "My friends will be so excited to meet you!" He paused, as if suddenly realizing he was being too chipper to someone he'd met only thirty minutes ago.  
"Well, uh...good luck."

Cat pulled the door open, hearing sounds of chatter and high pitched laughing. "Thanks."

Mrs. Davies was a thirtyish woman with a half-stern, half-friendly smile. She introduced Cat to the class and then made everyone introduce themselves to her by standing up and saying their name("Make sure you say it loudly and clearly, so Cat can hear your names!").

The rest of the class was doing an activity involving something Christmas-themed(as Christmas was only in a couple weeks), Cat was sitting in the corner and given a packet of problems to finish. (Oh, joy.)

"It has no affect on your grade whatsoever," Mrs. Davies told her, "I just want to see where you are so I can help you. There are a lot of problems, and you may have trouble answering some. That's the point of the test, to challenge you. You will have plenty of time to finish it. But I will call you when time is up."

Davies had seriously messed up the test, because the questions were _easy_. Cat probably learned all of that stuff in first grade. Seriously, multiplication tables? She zipped through the entire packet in fifteen minutes and then doodled on the side.

After five minutes of being bored, Davies came up to her. "Cat, if you're stuck, you can just move on to the next problem."

"I can't move on to the next problem."

Mrs. Davies frowned. "Why not?"

"'Cause I'm done with the whole thing."

The woman picked up the packet and flipped through it. "Huh. It looks like you are done. Well, you can join your classmates in the activity."

Cat sat in a table group with three other kids. A delicate girl with long dark hair, a boy with cool nerd glasses, and a blonde kid with a band-aid on his chin.

Glasses flashed her a quick grin and said in a ridiculous British accent, "The name's Bond. _James_ Bond."

"His name is actually _Loser_ Bond," the girl said. "And I'm Roxanne."

"I'm Logan," Band-Aid said loudly, looking at Cat with judging eyes.

"And my name really _is_ James," Glasses said.

"James, Roxanne, and Logan," Cat said, pointing to each of them in turn. "Cool. I'm Cat."

"We know," Logan said, "You introduced yourself already."

"Ignore him, and he'll disappear eventually," Roxanne advised, "Finally, a girl's at this table." She beamed at her. "These two are the biggest losers."

Cat returned her smile weakly. Why was she smiling so much?

"Watch who you call losers," Logan grunted.

James put an arm around Logan. "Yeah, what my buddy said."

Logan shoved his arm off and glared. "Shut it, you wacko."

James recoiled. In an obnoxious voice, he yelled, "Mrs. Davies! Logan called me a wacko!"

hurried over with a sigh. "James, don't yell in the classroom."

"Sorry," he said without a trace of apology.

"Work it out, boys. Logan, did you call James a wacko?"

Logan hesitated.

"Logan?"

The boy glared deeply at James. "Yes," he growled.

Mrs. Davies waited.

Logan puffed out a sigh. "Sorry."

"Thank you, Logan," James said sweetly.

"Well, see how simple that was? And, James," Mrs. Davies said as James slipped Logan a victorious look, "please refrain from harassing your classmates in the future, or I'll be forced to give you a behavioral warning."

Logan glowered at James. "Loser."

Cat watched the exchange. At her old school, the bully would've had James on the floor and bashing his face through the floor if James had dared to act that way. And she had a new respect for Mrs. Davies. At her old school, her teachers wouldn't have even moved an inch to interfere. Mrs. Davies had managed to squeeze an apology out of Logan and reprimand James without resulting in a scuffle. Ruben Elementary was surprising her.

" _So_ ," Roxanne stretched out the syllable, shooting Cat a roll of her eyes at the boys' behavior, "we're supposed to be working on ideas for our Christmas party." Roxanne clapped her hands together and smiled again. She seemed to have an endless supply of those. "And we're thinking, maybe we build, like, a gingerbread house or something…"

 _School is okay_ , Cat thought, _for now._


	9. Chapter 9: School Is Boring ll

**A/N: No excuses this time. I admit I'm a jerk for not updating for so long, especially since I promised I would update quickly (Or did I? I can't remember..) I don't know how many people actually read this thing instead of going straight to the story, but yeah. Sorry.**

* * *

Math was a dull subject. Mrs. Davies was trying her best to seem chipper and enthusiastic to cancel out the class's obvious boredom. But there was only so much you could do against multiplying fractions.

Cat and James were subtly playing hangman on their homework worksheets. Their table was in the back, far from Mrs. Davies' searching eyes. James had yet to guess Cat's word _._ His hangman had a head and half of his body. She'd drawn a sad face on the stick figure. When Mrs. Davies wasn't looking, James would whisper a letter to her. Roxanne was doing her best to pay attention, but her eyes were glazed and her fingers were tapping on the desk. Logan wasn't paying attention at all, and was rather watching the hangman game.

"L?" James whispered.

"Nope."

"F?"

"Nah."

"N?"

"One N." Cat filled in the letter. "One more to go, and you're hung."

"Try Z," Logan suggested.

"Dead," Cat smirked and triumphantly drew the last leg. She turned the eyes on the man to X's.

"Aw, man!" Logan complained.

"Shh," Roxanne hissed from the corner of her mouth, her face not moving from its attentive state fixed on the whiteboard.

"What was it?" James asked, voice lower.

Cat scribbled in the remaining letters, revealing the word to be _mitochondria_.

"I can't believe you didn't guess that," she smirked.

"That's not fair," James protested, "That's not a real word!"

"It is too, and you can search it up in the Dictionary."

Logan crossed his arms, not happy about losing. "You cheated. We didn't know what that meant."

"I don't cheat. How was _I_ supposed to know that you didn't know what the word meant?" Cat said haughtily, not caring if she sounded rude.

Roxanne kicked Cat under the table, making her wince.

"Ow!"

" _Be. Quiet._ "

James growled and shoved Logan, sending the other boy nearly falling out of his chair. "Then it was _your_ fault. Why would in the world you guess Z?"

Logan glared. "Shut up. And don't push me, _nerd._ "

"' _Don't push me, nerd_ ,'" James mimicked in a high pitched, inaccurate imitation of Logan's voice.

"Stop that, you-"

Roxanne turned, facing all of them with a furious glare. "SHH!"

Mrs. Davies' head flew up, and she turned around from scribbling on the whiteboard, black Expo marker in hand. Her eyes scanned the room. Cat quickly took on a standard bored pose, head propped on her hand, hunching in her seat like she'd been doing nothing all along. James and Logan followed her example.

Giving the entire class a suspicious look, she turned back to the board.

Roxanne sagged in relief. It quickly turned into anger at nearly getting caught. "Can you guys just be quiet?"

"Okay, okay. Sheesh." James grabbed the pencil. "My turn."

But before he could scrawl anything down, the bell rang. Thirty-two other pencils clattered down on the desks in quick succession, James' included. Every student's spine straightened, eyes instantly attentive. Some had already gotten out of their seats, only to be stopped by Mrs. Davies' "Wait one second, class! Don't go yet!"

"James, what does that mean?" Cat hissed.

"What does what mean?"

"The _bell_!"

He looked at her like she'd grown two heads. "What else? Recess, of course! Our precious twenty minutes away from learning. It's like a little slice of heaven in the midst of all-" He waved a hand around the classroom. "- _this_."

Cat raised both eyebrows. "Do you _enjoy_ being dramatic?"

"Indeed, I cherish it."

" _Nerd_ ," Logan coughed beside him.

Mrs. Davies was telling everyone, " _I_ release you, not the _bell_!"

Everyone was quiet, waiting for her to say the word.

She sighed. "Fine, just go."

* * *

Cat, can you stay behind for a second?"

Cat turned, about to step out the door. The final bell had rung only a few seconds ago, and everyone had nearly trampled her running out the door. Even though school wasn't as dull as she thought it'd be, she was eager to get back. Mrs. Davies looked dead serious, so she didn't complain. Was she in already in trouble on her first day?

"Um." A layer of worry laced her words. "Okay."

Cat mentally cataloged everything that she had done that day. During math, she had gotten bored and played hangman with James instead of paying attention to the lesson. And in the middle of science, she'd gotten reprimanded for talking too much. At lunch, she'd kicked Logan in the shin for being a jerk to her, but there was no way Mrs. Davies would have known that.

Mrs. Davies beckoned her to her desk with a hand. A thick packet of paper was resting on her desk. Cat got close enough to see the front page. The name at the top of the packet read _Catalina Gray_. But that was all that she could make out from the mess of scribbles that covered the front page. With some embarrassment, Cat recognized the small pencil scribbles and tiny drawings on it as hers.

Mrs. Davies picked it up and handed it to her. "Can you explain this?"

Her tone wasn't disapproving or angry, but Cat knew it was the kind of voice adults used when they were mad at you and didn't want to show it.

She looked down at her sneakers. "I'm sorry."

The teacher's eyebrows raised in a picture of surprise. "Sorry? Why are you sorry?"

Was this a game? She was probably trying to trick Cat into admitting that she was wrong. Lots of adults had tried that trick in the past. Not very subtle, but it did the trick with students. Cat felt resentment bubbling under the surface but pushed it away. Her temper had gotten her into trouble in the past.

"Uh," Cat worded her response carefully, "I'm sorry that I wrote all over the page?"

Mrs. Davies looked astonished, then shook her head, a smile playing on her lips. "No, no, no. Cat, that's not it at all. I didn't ask to stay behind because you were in trouble. Kind of the opposite, actually."

Wait...what?

"How do I explain this? You took a standardized test, I wanted to see what level you were at. But you completed this test in a much shorter time than I had given you," Mrs. Davies continued, grinning at Cat, "And not only that, but you got full marks on it."

Okay…she had passed a test. So what?

Mrs. Davies saw that she wasn't getting it, and explained, "Cat, I gave you the wrong test. You received a much harder test than elementary-school level. Some of these questions were for _high school_ students. And you completed them in record time. I don't even think high school students could finish them that fast."

Cat's brain was working in slow-motion, trying to understand the words. Words were coming from Mrs. Davies' mouth, and they were English, but she was _so_ confused. What was Mrs. Davies saying? That she had aced a test for high school students? That was impossible. _Impossible_.

Because Cat was a nobody. She was a troublemaker, and a rebel, and a smart-mouth, but still at the same time just...nobody. She wasn't special. She wasn't destined for anything. She didn't have dreams and hopes for the future. Everything in her life had proven that she was just one more unlucky moron in the world, and she'd be nothing more. It was a pessimistic thought. But at least she wouldn't have her hopes dashed like everyone else who strived for greatness.

Cat's mind couldn't process it. "So what you're saying is…"

Mrs. Davies beamed bright enough to light up the sun. "Cat, you're a child genius."

Her first thought was something along the lines of: _Why didn't you just lead with that? Tell me the interesting stuff first, and save the details for later!_ Her second was: _A child genius? Me?_ Her third was that the scene reminded her oddly of the one scene in _Harry Potter_ : "Yer a wizard, Harry!"

"Cat?"

Mrs. Davies had noticed the vacant eyes of her blonde haired student. But her eyes were still smiling, clearly expecting an overjoyed reaction from Cat. As if, any moment, Cat would get it and shout, _You're right! This is phenomenal!_

Cat snapped out of it. "Uh...great."

"Great? Cat, this is _fantastic_!" Her eyes were crazy with a light.

"Is it?" She was doubtful.

"Of _course_ it is!"

Jesus, the woman was more excited about the discovery than she was. Everything she was saying was ending in an exclamation point.

"A child genius!" Mrs. Davies repeated, like she couldn't quite believe it. She was talking more to herself than to Cat. "If you were interested in the prospect, you could skip this grade entirely. You could even go to college early! Like Tony Stark. My goodness, you could-"

Cat tuned her voice out. Whoa. College? She wasn't thinking this far into the future. Mrs. Davies was going _way_ overboard. Cat was smart, she could do more than ace her classes, but she wasn't, like, _Tony Stark_ -smart.

"I'll have to notify your parents, of course," Mrs. Davies said distractedly.

"Good luck with that," Cat said mumbled.

"What was that?"

Cat blanched. "Nothing, nothing. So uh, is that it?"

"No. I mean, yes, but-"

"Can I leave now?" It occurred to her that she sounded blunt, but she needed a few moments to gather her thoughts.

The teacher paused, then nodded. "Yes. You may go."

* * *

Cat had waited for Natasha's sleek black car by the red curb for exactly three minutes. Then she decided that it would be too humiliating to stand there looking like a fool for any longer, and started the walk back.

Unfortunately, it was November, which thus meant that it was freezing outside. The car ride that morning had been nice because there was heat from the car. Cat was playing don't-step-on-the-lines on her way back to Natasha's house to distract herself from the cold. Her fists were balled inside her thin jacket. Her cheeks were numb from the wind and her legs were all shivery.

Not to mention New York was unfamiliar, loud, and full of blaring horns and traffic. And it was a long way from school to Natasha's house. Luckily, she'd memorized the route. She let her thoughts wander and trip over each other while walking.

From when she was really little, she'd always had an uncanny knack for memorizing stuff. Little things, like license plates and strings of numbers. Never anything spectacular enough for her to think, _Gee, I'm so smart, I must be a child genius!_

Mrs. Davies' words echoed in her head.

 _Cat, you're a child genius._

As those words settled in, she remembered other occasions in her life where she'd been different from the other kids. Like that time in preschool, where she could bring up a very fuzzy memory of reciting an entire picture book word for word after only scanning the pages once or twice.

Or in one of the sessions at the foster home, and the older kids were learning about the periodic table. Cat hadn't even been paying attention, too busy talking with the other kids to pay attention to the "teacher". But as the teacher's mouth moved to say the next element in a droning voice, she found out with great surprise that she knew the name and atomic number to every one of them.

They had all been small and insignificant things at the time, which she'd only blamed on a good memory, but now that she looked at it…

 _BEEEEEP!_

Cat jumped in fright as a loud, long, horn of a car blared on her left. Her ears rang when it cut off abruptly. The car was pulled over on the curb, and clearly pressing the horn for no reason. She swore at the driver, repeating some of the words that the boys at the foster home had taught her. They had no qualms about teaching an eight-year-old girl the art of cursing someone out. Cat didn't know half of what they meant, but she _knew_ the words.

The window of the car rolled down, revealing an elegant woman with red hair. Cat swallowed the rest of her curses.

" _Language_ ," Natasha commented without an ounce of sternness. She looked like she found the whole situation amusing.

"Were you just...waiting for me? This entire time?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief.

"Yes. Now get in the back." the redhead told her. When Cat made no move to do so, she rolled her eyes. "Quickly. I'm getting gray hairs."

A part of her of glad that Natasha had found her, miraculously, on the way back in the middle of New York traffic. The other part was reluctant to show that she needed anything. But survival skills kicked in and she got in the car. She was glad she did because the car's heater warmed her up as she slid in the seat.

The moment Cat closed the door shut, Natasha stepped on the gas, and the car kicked into drive. Natasha forced her way into one of the lanes, causing annoyed _BEEP! BEEP! BEEP_ s to erupt behind them. Cat just had enough time to clip on her seatbelt before the woman stopped the car sharply to avoid crashing into another car.

She yelped as she lurched forward in her seat. "Hey! Why are we going so fast?"

"We're on scheduled time. There's no time to be slow."

"Scheduled time for _what_?" Cat gripped the armrests as they lurched forward again, even though her fingers were too numb to prevent anything.

"You'll see."

Which was not a satisfactory answer, Cat thought, but she didn't press it. She could tell when Natasha wasn't going to tell her something, and nothing could persuade her to do otherwise. Not even coffee. And Cat knew that from experience.

"So. Child genius." Natasha said as Cat dumped her backpack on the seat next to her. "Anything else you haven't bothered to tell me?"

"I'm not a child genius."

"That's not what your teacher said."

"You talked to her?"

"Yes, she gave me a lengthy description about your testing. Apparently, you're eligible to skip grades-"

"No," Cat said vehemently. "I don't want to."

Being considered "gifted" was bad enough. She would rather jump into a flaming building than be transferred to a classroom where everyone could gawk at her like she was some interesting specimen they hadn't discovered yet.

"I never said you had to," Natasha said calmly, "But she said, and I quote, 'This class is not challenging for you enough.' And then she told me that you had already left campus." She shot cat a glare via rearview mirror. "Speaking of which, we need to talk about that. There are some nasty people out there, and you don't want to be out in this place alone when it's all dark and scary. Some are just looking for a chance to kidnap an eight-year-old girl walking out on the streets by herself."

Cat snorted. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"It should." Natasha sounded serious, and her green eyes held a warning in the rearview mirror. Cat felt a shiver run down her spine, wondering if it was partly from experience. But the tense moment didn't last. Natasha's voice became lighter and she said, "Not to mention, the weather is horrible out here."

Cat tried to decipher the hidden message in the words. With Natasha, there usually was one. Was the redhead just being sarcastic? Or was she actually, genuinely worried about her?

No. She pushed that hopeful thought away, a wave of disgust with herself for even lingering on the subject. Why was she even thinking about that?

"I was fine," Cat shrugged.

"Right." The word was dripping in sarcasm. "That explains why your hands are still shaking from the cold."

But Cat looked down and sure enough, her hands _were_ still shaking. The bare quality of her jacket hadn't protected them from the biting weather. She felt another shiver rack her body as she recalled the feeling of being so cold. She balled her hands into fists and shoved them in her jacket.

"It's not like I can change the weather."

Natasha rolled her eyes again. "We'll talk about this later. Next time, just stay at the curb."

* * *

 **Steve is going to be in the next chapter! And reviews always inspire me(hint hint wink wink nudge nudge).**


	10. Chapter 10: Steve

Cat blinked drowsily into the dim light. It was early in the morning. The sun had only just come up and the lights were set on low because her eyes were sensitive to light.

"The last time you woke me up this early, it didn't end well."

Without a word, Natasha took a seat at the dining table and pressed a steaming cup into Cat's hands. The redhead looked startling awake, her posture perfect, eyes bright, red hair straightened out and slightly ruffled from her morning jog. She was still dressed in her running clothes.

On the contrary, Cat was still in the clothes she'd slept in. A wrinkled shirt and Hello Kitty pajama bottoms. As much as she despised the pajama bottoms, she couldn't deny they were soft and comfortable. Her hair was sticking out from bedhead and her eyes were droopy. She slurped loudly from her mug and rested her head on the table.

Cat yawned hugely. "Do you always wake up at the crack of dawn?"

Natasha prodded her head with a hand. Cat batted it away. "I see that you don't."

"'Cause I'm still _sane_." She lifted her head from the table with a Herculean effort and tilted her cup over so that the coffee spilled into her mouth. Only the cup tipped over and spilled on the table.

"Damn."

Natasha shoved a napkin in her face. "How do you even manage to get to school on time?"

"I do get to school on time," Cat defended herself. "But it's _Saturday_."

For the past week, Cat had taken the bus to school and back because Natasha needed to get to her work early. She hadn't told Cat anything about her work, which was infuriating her. She always left after Cat boarded the bus and frequently returned home at late hours. But that day it was Saturday, and that meant that she could sleep as long as she wanted to.

"So. Why did you wake me up?" she asked, her voice muffled against the table.

"I have to go on a business trip."

Cat's head shot up, all tiredness draining from her body. "What? When?"

Natasha checked her phone. "In about an hour or so."

Cat spluttered. "An _hour_? And you're telling me _now_?"

She shrugged. "Something unexpected came up."

"What's so unexpected that you can't do later?"

"It's important."

" _How_ important?" Cat needled.

"Really important."

Ugh. Vague answers. "When will you be back?"

Natasha set her phone down, looking at Cat with a hint of teasing in her eyes. "What's with the questions? Gonna miss me?"

"No." Cat said quickly, then thought that might be insulting. "It's just...surprising."

Natasha's knowing smirk told her she'd seen right through the fib, which was humiliating. "Then don't worry. I'll be back when I'm back. You should be more worried about yourself. I hired a babysitter."

She groaned. "I don't need a-"

"You think I'm going to leave an ADHD eight year old in an unsupervised house for a few days?" Natasha shook her head.

"I'm _nine_."

"No, you aren't."

"Nearly nine," Cat amended. "And for the record, I think I could handle some time alone in this big, boring house."

She laughed a little. "Keep dreaming, kid." She ruffled her hair.

Cat ducked her head. "Is it Clint?"

"No, he's busy. Something he has to do." she said, dashing her hopes. "But I think you'll like Steve."

Cat thought for a moment. "How much do you pay a babysitter?"

"Oh, I'm not paying Steve anything."

"People don't do anything for nothing," she told Natasha, "Why's he doing it?"

"Out of the goodness of his heart," Natasha said dryly.

"Why?"

"Steve is like that. He's just a wonderful human being."

"So why's he friends with you?"

Natasha glared at her.

Cat smiled. "You know, you're just proving my point."

That glare _was_ growing scary, though.

"Never mind. I'm going back to sleep." She scampered away, taking her cup with her.

"Good choice," Natasha said darkly.

* * *

Steve Rogers sat at a cafe somewhere in downtown Brooklyn, wearing a baseball cap and a fancy brand of sunglasses that Tony Stark had lent him. He was guzzling a coffee down and gazing out the window, lost in his thoughts.

He still recalled the memories of waking up in a new, strange city with flashing lights and busy streets. He remembered the fear, the grief, the anger. Everything that came after that, the Avengers and all of the craziness that came with it, had blurred into a string of action and frustration and grief. After that, he'd sort of...settled down.

He still had duties to perform, with SHIELD and the Avengers and facing villains and people who wanted to take over the world on a regular basis. But somewhere in that madness, he'd found some free time. Time to spend with his teammates, who he learned were just normal people once you got to know them. _Really_ got to know them. And even some times were he could just relax and sip a cup of coffee at a local cafe.

And the new world...it was different, that was for sure. The Brooklyn he'd once knew had transformed into a constant buzz of activity and sprawling streets full of people. That didn't make Steve any less determined to familiarize himself with his surroundings. He took it as a challenge. And with a little nudging from Tony and his other teammates, he'd found himself absorbed in the modern world.

And if he was being completely honest with himself, it wasn't all that bad.

All of the sudden, his phone buzzed with a text. He checked it, a text popping up on the screen.

 _NR: You free today?_

Curious, Steve wondered what Natasha wanted. They'd formed a strong friendship, and more than often they'd gone out for a coffee or a quick drink. But in the last few weeks she'd been distant, wrapped up in missions and doing some other things that were probably classified.

He texted back: _Yes._

She replied nearly instantly. _Good. Where r u?_

He shot a text back quickly. _Brooklyn. Why?_

The little dots flashed in the message bubble, indicating that she was typing. Steve waited patiently for her answer, only to be slightly disappointed when a mere short popped up on the screen.

 _Emergency._

Still, Steve's heart skipped a beat. It could have been her way of subtly saying 'I'm in trouble, come and get me'. But he tried to reassure himself. Natasha was a grown woman, capable of rendering five trained agents unconscious at the same time. She could take care of herself.

Another text popped up. He'd been so preoccupied in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed Natasha typing. It read:

 _How soon can you be at my place? New house._

He checked the time. _In 30. Are you in trouble?_

It was the second time he'd asked, but she only responded with: _Sort of. Don't be late._

 _Late for what?_

 _Got a job 4 you. Be there._

Steve's fingers were poised to type in a frantic text in return, but he paused. It was pointless to press any further. There was very little chance she would actually she them and respond. Knowing her, she'd probably see them and ignore them anyway.

Steve reread the last texts, torn between frustration at the vague messages and worry that she might be in some sort of trouble. Either Natasha was talking about a classified mission and she couldn't reveal all of the details, or she just enjoyed being cryptic. He was leaning toward the second option, but he wasn't taking any risks.

If Natasha was in danger, there would be no hesitation on his part.

He shook out a few bills from his wallet, remembering to leave a sizely tip. He left the cafe briskly and and found his motorcycle parked on the street where he had left it. He revved up the engine and shot off in a cloud of dust, sending bits of gravel flying behind him.

* * *

"You said you had an emergency!" Steve said in disbelief.

Natasha regarded him calmly. "I do."

They were standing on the front porch. The red haired woman was casually standing in the doorway with her phone in her hand. Steve was standing outside the door, having hurried to Natasha's house as fast as he could, looking unnaturally frazzled for a man who was part of a team dubbed the 'World's Mightiest Heroes'.

"I was thinking along the lines of 'I've gotten captured by dangerous people and I need you to break me out'. You don't have an emergency. You want me to babysit a kid! A kid, that until this day, I have never heard of."

"Rogers," she sighed, "That is ridiculous. Getting captured by dangerous people is a rookie mistake. I am beyond past the rookie line."

Was that all she'd gotten from that? "That's not what's important here."

He ran a hand through his hair. He'd always felt like he was out of his league with children. Being a man from the forties, he had no idea what the latest trends, toys, or fashions were. He couldn't relate to children. Of course, he autographed, smiled, complimented, and gave advice to children who looked up to him. He'd never needed to actually try to get them to like him. They'd grown up worshipping his name. But babysitting was another thing.

"Natasha, I can't babysit a kid."

"Sure you can," Natasha said breezily, "All you need to do is feed her something, play with her, make sure she doesn't get run over by a car on the streets. You defeated a troupe of aliens-what was it, last week? I'm sure you can handle babysitting an eight year old kid for a couple of hours."

Steve worked his jaw. "Make sure she doesn't get _run over by a car_?"

"Oh, you know what I meant. Just entertain her."

"Nat, with all due respect, there's a reason why I've always thought you would be the last one on the team to get a kid."

Natasha didn't look offended. "Technically, she's not my kid."

He threw up his hands. "What did you do, steal this kid from an orphanage?"

"No, she's something like a very distant niece." Her mouth twitched, amused. "You know, you're the second person this month to ask me that question. Clint swung by a week ago and snatched her away to Six Flags. I think he left some of his personality in her as well. It's been a nightmare dealing with two of them."

"Clint knows? Of course he does. Does Tony know? And the rest of the team?"

Natasha grimaced. "No, thank God. Her and Stark are bad enough on their own. Together they would unleash hell on Earth."

He was sure Natasha was exaggerating, but it still made Steve more hesitant to babysit the kid. "Does she know about...you?"

"If you're talking about SHIELD and the Avengers, no she doesn't. And she _won't_." She gave him a stern look.

"You won't keep it a secret for long," he warned. "The missions, the visitors, the disappearances. Not to mention, every time you leave, you're risking her finding out about the Black Widow. Do you really want her to find out that way? Not to mention, having Captain America be her babysitter isn't exactly the subtle way to go with this."

"Did you just refer to yourself in third person?"

"Natasha-"

"All right, Cap. I don't need a lecture. Don't doubt my ability. As for you being Captain America…" She gave him a once-over, frowning like she was trying to figure out that issue. "Never mind that. She's eight. I'm not saying she isn't intelligent, but she might not even make the connection."

"Practically every kid who watches television knows the name 'Captain America.'"

"Well, what do you want me to do, Steve? I have a mission I need to leave for-" She checked her phone and cursed. "-five minutes ago, actually. I'm already behind schedule, and you were the only person I could think of."

"You could have given me a warning."

"It was a spur-of-the-moment phone call. Fury's going to be on my case for being late." All of the sudden, her phone started buzzing frantically. She pulled it out and checked it. "Speak of the devil. Fury's on the line. Go call Cat down, her bedroom's the one across from the stairs."

"You're sure she's okay with all of this?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say _sure_ , but more or less." Natasha shrugged as if to say _What can you do?_ "She'll be a little difficult, but I think your patriotic self can handle her."

"For some reason that doesn't reassure me," Steve said.

"Don't be such a downer. Here, come inside." The buzzing of the phone grew louder. Natasha muttered something under her breath. She pressed the 'Accept' button and held it to her ear. Steve heard a distant "Agent Romanoff?" come from the phone before she walked away talking on the phone.

"Director Fury. Yes, I'm aware. No, I'm dealing with some issues here. I know. I will be there as soon as possible…" Her voice faded away.

Steve stepped in the house, feeling wary. He wondered if he should take off his shoes, but then decided against it. Everything was clean and orderly. Which made sense, since she'd recently got it. Everything had a new, modern feel to it, from the crisp white walls to the flat screen television. This wasn't the type of house he was comfortable in. He preferred nice comfy apartments over pristine houses.

He took the spiraling staircase two steps at a time and made it all the way up in one breath. Natasha had said hers was the bedroom across from the stairs. There was a row of bedroom doors, all of which facing the stairs. Which one was it? He tried the first door.

The first thing he noticed when he leaned in was that walls were blank. Completely blank. Steve hadn't been in many kids' rooms but he was certain that most of them had at least _some_ type of decoration. The carpet was clean from stains and no toys of any sorts were in sight. The only thing that gave Steve a clue that a kid lived in the room was that the bed looked slept-in. The bedsheets were rumpled and the blanket was thrown over half of the bed, the other half empty.

Yet, there was no kid in sight. Steve began to quietly step out of the room.

"Who're you?" a voice behind him asked.

Steve whirled around, body stiffening from the urge to jump up. Instinctively, he'd taken up a battle stance. He wasn't usually taken by surprise, but he had been so absorbed by looking around that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings.

The speaker was a girl. Seeing her, his guard relaxed. He shifted his stance and his readied fists. Knocking the girl out would certainly start him off on the wrong foot, and not to mention the possible threat of Natasha knocking _him_ out.

The girl who had spoken was petite and small, but she held herself with confidence that gave her the appearance of someone taller. She wacs blonde, which also surprised him. He'd braced himself for a mini-Natasha, a girl with red hair and fierce green eyes identical to a certain assassin's. But no, this girl looked nothing like Natasha. She was also wearing Hello Kitty pajama bottoms, which bemused Steve.

"You must be Cat." He stuck out a hand for her to shake. "I'm Steve R-" His mouth formed the word _Rogers_ but he cut himself off.

She eyed his hand, but shook it. Her grip was nice and firm. Her dark eyes flickered to Steve's face, and she seemed to be… _analyzing_ him. Then her eyes widened in recognition.

"Wait. _You're_ the friend Natasha was talking about? The babysitter?"

"That I am."

She looked him up and down, very similar to the one Natasha had given him a few minutes ago. Steve could now see the small resemblances; the thin eyebrows, narrow mouth, striking features. He had an artist's eye for detail, and couldn't help mentally observing that she would make a good model in one of his sketchpads.

Finally, she shrugged and said, "Huh" in an uninterested voice.

"Um," Steve said smoothly. "Natasha wants you to come down."

"Of course she does," Cat grumbled. She started for the stairs. Only she didn't use the stairs; she jumped on the railing and slid all the way down, jumping off at the end.

Natasha walked out from the kitchen. She was still wearing her 'jogger' clothes, but Steve had no doubt that she would swap them for her trademark black catsuit before reaching SHIELD headquarters. She walked in at the exact moment Cat flew off the railing and landed on the floor.

Steve half-expected her to reprimand the girl, but she just drawled, "If you fall off and bleed to death on the floor, it's not my fault."

"Only amateurs fall," Cat declared.

Steve looked at her oddly. That line reminded him eerily of Tony.

"That's funny. Why haven't you fallen yet?"

"Ha-ha." Cat scowled at the redhead. "Aren't you supposed to be gone by now?"

Steve descended from the stairs, listening to their bickering. Natasha might not have won awards for parenting in his book, but the familiarity and ease that the two talked to each other made it obvious that Cat was comfortable with Natasha. It made sense; Steve had only known the girl for a few minutes, but he had already figured out that their personalities were nearly matching.

"I'm going right now." Natasha grabbed her keys from the counter and ruffled the girl's hair with a smirk.

Steve reached the bottom step and hurried to the door before she could open it. "Wait- what do I do if I need something?"

"Don't panic. Send me a text. You should know how to use that by now, right?"

"Oh, shut up." Steve stepped aside. "Be safe."

She yanked opened the door. "Good luck. You'll need it."

"Gee, thanks," Cat said.

"You're welcome. Don't blow up the house while I'm gone." The sentence was punctuated by the door closing shut.

There was an awkward pause where the two just looked at each other.

Then she said, "You look like Captain America."

He tilted his head to the side, slightly caught off guard and trying to hide it. Good thing he had an excellent poker face. "That so?"

"Yeah. The one on TV all the time. You're really big and muscly. And you said your name was Steve. Like Steve Rogers."

Dumb decision. Steve cursed himself. "It is," he said evenly, meeting her eyes.

"What's your last name?"

The kid was a goddamn detective. Something in the girl's eyes told him that she knew the truth. Or maybe she was bluffing. Natasha hadn't really specified on how intelligent she was. Steve needed to step up his game, the kid had found out way too early. And Natasha was going to murder him if she found out.

"Richards," Steve said, the first word that came to mind. He smiled at her, hopefully coming off as kind and normal. "I'm flattered, Cat. But trust me on this. I'm no Captain America."

They had another skeptical stare-off.

Cat looked away first. "So, I'm starving. Wanna go to IHop?"

The tension drained from his body. "Why not?"

* * *

The girl seemed to lose her previous cold demeanor on the way to IHop. Steve had scrounge up a slightly-too-big helmet for Cat in Natasha's expansive garage. She had spent the majority of the trip whooping and hollering at the other cars.

Now they sat at a booth near the front of the shop. Steve was paranoid that he would be recognized, but no one seemed to notice him, as he was wearing a baseball cap and kept his head down. The waitress had given him a flirtatious smile as she took their orders, but it wasn't the _Oh my god, you're Steve Rogers!_ smile. Natasha would have the defined it as the _I find you attractive and I want to make a move on you_ smile. She was always pushing him to get in a relationship.

Cat sat across from him. She was making a tall tower out of forks, knives, plates, straws, and sugar packets. Steve had half a mind to tell her to not play with her silverware, but part of him was intrigued at the delicacy of her hands as she placed one object on top of another. She seemed like she was warming up to him, and he didn't want to lose that.

Sometimes he could be such a weakling.

"Nice," he complimented. He offered her another packet.

Cat took it. She looked up from her work, eyes expectant. "Most babysitters would tell me to stop."

The way she said 'babysitters' told Steve all he needed to know about her past experiences with them. All, of the sudden, he was filled with an urge to prove her wrong.

"I didn't."

"Yeah, well, you're weird that way."

He couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. Like Natasha, she had the dry humor down.

Amused, he asked, "Good weird or bad weird?"

"Neither. Weird is weird."

Wow. This girl was really something.

The flirty waitress arrived at their table, holding their plates. She set Cat's pancakes down with a flourish, saying "There you go, sweetie". But she took her time setting Steve's down for some reason, leaning in too close for comfort. He caught a whiff of her perfume. It was a strong sweet scent, almost overbearing. He shifted away, the beginnings of heat crawling up his collar.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cat narrow her eyes.

Her breath fluttered across his face. "May I get anything else for you, sir? Your number, perhaps?"

An image of Peggy flashed in his mind. He felt sick to his stomach. He smiled strainedly. "No tha-"

"Yes," Cat interrupted, speaking too loudly. "A life."

The waitress pulled away and looked at Cat disgustedly. "What did you just say?"

Cat leveled her with an unimpressed look. "You heard me. He's clearly not interested. Get. A. Life. And while you're at it, a refill of maple syrup." She shook the empty syrup dispenser.

"Cat," Steve began sternly, even though he didn't know where to start. "Be respectful."

" _Please_ ," Cat emphasized, "refill the maple syrup."

That was not what Steve meant, but he had an inkling that Cat already knew that.

The flirty waitress grumbled, snatching up the dispenser violently. She cast one more dirty look at the blonde girl and walked away.

Cat avoided Steve's eyes. She pretended like she didn't feel the heat of his gaze on her. She fiddled with her tower, picking it apart and setting the silverware on the table. When it got too much, she looked up and snapped, "What?"

"One part of me wants to give you a high five. The other part wants to give you a lecture."

"Listen to your better half," Cat advised him wisely. "Just give me a high five and we'll just say that I saved you from a terrible fate."

A different guy arrived at their table to give them the syrup that Cat requested. He was young and he looked very confused as to why he was given the job. "Uh, here's your syrup."

"Thank you," Steve told him. He looked at Cat and held up a high five. She grinned and slapped it.

"That's the way, Steve."

"Something tells me that you're not going to learn anything from that."

Cat grinned. She tipped the maple syrup over completely, dumping the entire contents of the dispenser over her heaping plate of pancakes. Steve snatched it away before she could use up the last few drops.

He groaned. "Seriously, kid? You didn't leave anything for me?"

"I need my sugar, it's early in the morning."

"Half of your plate is pure sugar," Steve pointed out.

"I need _lots_ of sugar in the morning."

"Good for you, then," Steve grouched, but then smiled to show that he was joking. "We'll need more syrup."

"Well, obviously."

* * *

 **How did you like Steve in this chapter?**


	11. Chapter 11: Steve Part ll

"How about we go to the park?" Steve suggested tiredly.

It was a few hours after noon. The two were watching yet another episode of National Geographic, since Cat said that she liked the channel. Steve was sitting on the floor, his head tilted back to lean on the edge of the couch. Cat was sprawled out on the couch above Steve, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on her stomach. She had taken to flicking pieces of popcorn onto his head. Steve hadn't protested much, mostly too tired from the day's events.

The living room was a mess. Steve didn't have the fuzziest idea on how to entertain an eight year old, so he let Cat do the suggesting for the most part. The ground was littered with pieces of paper. The ones with dark scribbles and Sharpie covering the entire page were Cat's. The ones that were drawn carefully with an artist's delicate hand were Steve's.

Cat had told him making cookies would be fun, and it had gone as well as Steve had expected. He Googled "making cookies" but aside from raiding Natasha's kitchen for the ingredients, Cat had completely ignored the recipe and instead made it up as she went, claiming that it was "more fun that way". The girl's idea of cooking was putting together the ingredients into a large bowl, shoving the entire thing into the oven, and to "hope for the best". The smell of slightly burnt cookies still remained in the kitchen. He'd put the fire out before the alarms started ringing, but after that Steve had said no more cooking.

After that, the rest was history. They'd played board games until they were bored out of their minds, ordered things on Amazon using Natasha's account, ordered pizza, accidentally broke a vase while playing catch with a wiffle ball, and finally wound up in the living room watching the same episode over and over.

One might think that the day had been a disaster, and maybe that was true. But Steve hadn't had this much fun in ages. Two months ago, if someone had told him that he would end up trying to please an ADHD eight year old by playing "The Ground Is Lava" and jumping around the furniture, he would have laughed outright. He was too busy Captain-America-ing and dealing with the press. He couldn't deny that it was refreshing to spend the day not worrying if people would either ask for an autograph or curse at him.

And something told him that Natasha would not be pleased when she returned.

Cat hadn't responded to his question. He looked up, and Cat's eyes were glazed over. He prodded her hand a bit and she started.

"Hey, you want to go to the playground?"

"The playground?" Cat repeated, sounding like she was considering it. "I'm too old for playgrounds."

"You're eight. I know lots of kids older than you go to the playground. Maybe you'll see someone you know from school."

"That's why I don't want to go."

Steve stood up, rolling his shoulders. "C'mon. I know a place. It's better than sitting in the house all day. You need to get some fresh air."

"Fresh air? What are you, eighty?"

* * *

The playground Steve was talking about was a few minutes drive from Natasha's fancy house on his motorbike. It had a large play structure and also had a grassy spot where kids could play soccer and play sports. He passed the place regularly on his morning runs, but it had always been deserted because of how early it was. He liked the quiet. At the same time, the sounds of children at play were missing, making the entire park seem like it was missing something.

Because it was noon, and a Saturday, the playground was filled with kids playing and laughing on the play structure. The weather was perfect: a blue sky with a few wisps of cloud floating in the sky. A few parents conversed a few feet away, carrying a lively conversation while watching their children from the corner of their eye. Everyone seemed happy and joyful.

Steve hopped off his bike. He was wearing his baseball cap, sunglasses, and his head was lowered so that no one paying enough attention would notice him. He motioned for Cat, who was looking at the playground with a frown on her face, to get off the bike. She got off reluctantly, her beat-up sneakers trailing in the dirt.

"It's full. Maybe we should go back." She looked at him hopefully.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "It'll be fine. Just go play with the other kids."

"How?"

Steve didn't have an immediate answer to that. "Just go ask if you can join a soccer game or something." He nodded to a couple of boys kicking around a soccer ball.

"They're _boys_. They won't let me play."

"You never know until you try, right? Go on."

Cat muttered something under her breath and inched toward the fields at the pace of a snail. Midway, she turned back to look at him with a face that said _Happy_? He nodded approvingly and made a motion with his hand for her to go on. With a heave of her shoulders in what Steve assumed to be a heavy sigh, she ran to the boys and tapped one of them, a dark haired boy taking a drink from his water, on the shoulder.

Cat was talking to him, motioning with her hands. The dark haired boy was frowning at her. He shook his head. Was he refusing to let Cat play with them? Steve tensed, preparing himself to get up and knock some sense into them. A few of the boy's friends started crowding around them, wondering why the other boy wasn't joining them. The boy turned to them. He looked like he was explaining.

A few of his teammates were shrugging, fine with the idea of a girl joining in. A lot of them were older than Cat. Finally the dark haired boy looked at Cat, seeming to glance at her up and down, and told her something that made her grin triumphantly.

He watched her play for a while, leaning on his motorcycle. She was light on her feet and lightning fast, something that should have surprised Steve but didn't. She reminded Steve of Natasha, and the redhead was good at seemingly everything. A lot of things did: the intelligence, the wit, and the recklessness. It amused Steve every time; it was like another Natasha trapped in an eight year old's body.

As he was watching, Cat was sprinting in the opposite direction toward the boy with the ball. The boy wasn't slowing down, though. Expecting a full-on collision, Steve leaned forward in concern. At the last moment, the girl swerved, stealing the ball in the process. She kicked the ball so hard that it soared through the air straight toward the goal on the opposite end. It looked like it was going to make it in the goal, but the goalie snatched it up at the last moment and threw it across the field.

"Sweet ride," someone on Steve's right remarked.

Steve's head whipped around. A dark haired, grinning young woman was standing right next to him, somehow having managed to sneak up on him while he was watching the game. She was wearing flattering clothes and bright makeup, giving him The Eyes.

"Thanks," he said somewhat warily, running a hand over his sleek black motorcycle. "It was a gift from a friend."

"Nice friend." The woman followed where his head was turned(since she couldn't see his eyes) to the soccer field. "Interesting game, too."

"Yeah," Steve said, thinking of nothing else to say.

"These kids are pretty good, actually. I don't remember anyone my age being so dedicated back in the day." She flashed him a friendly smile.

"Yeah, they are." he said lamely. He turned toward her sharply, making her do the same. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

"Oh, I'm Lauren," she said brightly, sticking out her hand.

He took it in a firm hold. His hand dwarfed her small one. He said the first name that sprang to his lips. "I'm Alex."

"So, Alex...What's a guy like you doing at the park on a Saturday?"

Steve looked at her assessingly. She didn't seem flirtatious, just curious. "I'm just watching over my friend's daughter." Well, sort of.

"That's nice of you, to do that."

The cogs of Steve's modernized brain were turning and bumping into each other, trying to figure out if that was a compliment or an attempt at flirting. He decided to play it safe and be oblivious. He wasn't looking for a relationship, anyway.

"My friend kind of guilted me into it. But the kid's not so bad. She's the one playing soccer over there." Steve pointed her out.

Lauren's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I saw her join them earlier. Spunky."

Steve smiled, feeling a sense of pride spread across his chest for no reason whatsoever. They watched in silence for a moment. On the field, Steve could make out Cat's lithe figure skirting around some defenders and kicking the ball into the goal. She threw her hands in the air and whooped in celebration.

"I didn't know she could play that well," Steve admitted.

"Kids surprise you sometimes. I played soccer in college. She's quick. She needs to work on her footing, though." Lauren looked back at Steve. "What's her name?"

"Cat."

"That's a good name," Lauren complimented.

An awkward silence passed between the two in which Steve had no idea of what else to say. It was odd having a conversation that didn't have to do about what strategy on the battlefield or how dire the situation was or something else work related. Ever since he'd come out of "Capsicle Mode" (Tony's term, not his) he's had this language barrier between him and everyone else. References generally went over his head (although he was doing his best to change that) and he didn't have the slightest clue of what to talk about in normal, non-battling-aliens conversations.

Suddenly Lauren squinted at the field concernedly. "Huh. Looks like your charge just got into a fight with one of the kids."

Cat was nose-to-nose with a boy wearing a backwards Yankees cap. Yankees Cap was a whole two heads taller than her, but she was holding her ground. She was glaring at him with her arms crossed. They were shouting angrily at each other. Both looked ready to lunge at each other at a second's notice. Some of the parents had already ran forward to break it up. Dread knotted in his stomach. The one thing he wanted to avoid was confrontation.

"I better check that out," Steve said to Lauren, then jogged to the soccer field without waiting for a reply.

Fake grass crunched beneath his shoes. He got within earshot and heard Yankees Cap shouting, "I didn't shove you, you stupid girl!" That gave Steve enough context to figure out the cause of their entire argument. It didn't do much to ease his concern, although the insult made his blood boil. He didn't like bullies.

"You're saying I tripped over the air?" Cat snarled. There were grass stains on her jeans and scrapes on her face, proof that she had fell onto the grass. She didn't look the slightest bit intimidated that the boy was taller and stronger than she was. In fact, she held herself with a towering mixture of anger and confidence that gave her a few inches of height. Her dark eyes were narrowed. "Coincidently right when you stole the ball from me?"

Yankees Cap was getting red in the face, really losing control now. Steve could tell by his voice: every word was a scream by itself like the boy was trying to prove his point by saying it louder. "It's not my problem girls suck at soccer! Stop trying to blame it on me!"

The rest of the boys were watching the fight with conflicting emotions. Cat's hands had formed into fists. But then he saw something else: Her face was drew tight in pain. His eyes wandered down to her arm, which was bent at an uncomfortable angle. Her fingers definitely weren't supposed to be pointing that way. His previous emotion was swallowed up by anger. Whether Yankees Cap had pushed her or not, Cat was hurt.

"Look," Cat started, with a deadly gleam in her eye, "You might be slightly stupid—"

"You're the stupid one!"

That, evidently, was the last straw for her. She stepped forward so quick that Yankees Cap didn't have enough time to gain his senses, and punched him in the face with her good arm. The sound it made echoed around the field. Steve couldn't help noticing that she had a strong right hook. Yankees Cap staggered back because of the sheer force of the blow, holding a hand to his cheek. His eyes were blazing. He shoved Cat back.

She landed hard on the field.

"That's enough!" Steve said commandingly, ripping off his shades and his baseball hat.

Both kids, including the rest of the boys, turned to look at Steve on instinct. Cat's eyes were wide and surprised.

"Gentlemen, take a step back." When none of them moved, he barked, "Now!" They collectively all lurched back. Steve glared at Cat, who had the nerve to look at him without the smallest trace of regret. He held out a hand to her. She looked like she wanted to protest that she didn't need any help, but after a moment she grasped it and pulled herself to her feet.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," she said tightly, glaring at him like _he_ was the problem.

He cast a look at the boys, frozen in their positions, wanting to lecture them. But that would only make things difficult. He started walking in the other direction back to his motorbike, thinking The park was a bad idea. "Cat, we're going."

Lauren ran up to them as they were halfway there, brow furrowed. "What happened?" She noticed Cat's multiple scrapes and her arm and her mouth turned down. "Oh, sweetie, are you okay?"

"Fine," Cat repeated, looking at Lauren with a judging look that made Steve just know instinctively that she was about to make some sort of snarky comment. "What are—"

"We'd better go," Steve interrupted, giving her an apologetic look. "It was nice meeting you."

The dark haired woman's mouth was agape, her eyes as wide as saucers. Steve realized lately that his face wasn't concealed, that she had probably seen his face on television multiple times, and that she had undoubtedly recognized him for Captain America. "Oh my God. You're—"

He turned his face away. "Cat, let's go."

They hurried away. Cat said, "Who was she, your future love interest? Why was she so shocked?"

"It doesn't matter." Steve got on the motorcycle, then realized they had a slight issue. "Let me see that. Does it hurt when I do this?" He touched it gingerly, scanning her face for signs of pain. Her face tensed, but she was doing a good job of hiding it. Subconsciously, he drew another line of comparison between her and Natasha.

"It's not a big deal, Steve. It's just a broken arm, doesn't even hurt that much." A thoughtful look flitted across her face. "Maybe if I just shove it really hard, then it'll pop back into place." She was about to do just that when Steve quickly grabbed her wrist.

"That's what you do with a dislocated shoulder. It's different with a broken arm."

"So if I had a dislocated shoulder, you'd let me shove it back into place?"

Steve looked at her incredulously. "What are you— No! We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, we don't. Once I saw this one guy do it in a movie. Watch this." She jerked her free arm from Steve's hold.

He grabbed it again and held it to her side. "No— okay, no. We're going to the hospital. That's final."

She groaned loudly. "If you would just let me do the dislocationated arm thing—"

"No."

* * *

"She _what_?" Natasha's voice crackled over the phone.

Steve had quickly drove to the nearest children's hospital and checked Cat in. After waiting for a very long time, Cat had taken an x-ray and it was concluded that she had broken her arm and had to have a cast. The doctor had given Steve specific instructions about it, which she had printed out and given to him.

"Broke her arm in two places. I'm just warning you, the medical bill has a lot of zeros on it."

"How did she manage that?" Her voice was slightly irritated.

Steve found himself slightly surprised she wasn't fussing over Cat like he expected she was. From what he gathered, that was how parents first reacted when hearing this news. Steve could tell when people had a bond with each other, and the redhead was obviously fond of Cat. But Natasha wasn't her parent. Plus, she was extremely good at hiding her emotions.

"I'm not sure how, exactly." Cat had refused to tell him about how she'd gotten the injuries other than "the measly kid was a douchebag", which Steve had already figured out on his own. He didn't press her for any more details, because she was already frustrated at herself. "She got into a fight with some boy at the park."

"Of course she did. Does it look bad?"

"Cat isn't making a big deal out of it. She was complaining about having to wear a cast earlier." Steve cocked his head to get a glimpse of Cat, who was talking to the nurse to the nurse and looking annoyed about it. When she caught him looking at her, she mouthed, Get me out of here.

"She should be fine."

"I thought I should call you, just to make sure. The doctors need a guardian's signature, and I had to tell them you were away." There was a pause on Natasha's end. Steve pulled his phone away from his ear. "Natasha? You there?"

She cursed colorfully. "Steve, this is probably a bad time to tell you, but I'm kind of in the middle of something right now," she said urgently. There were faint popping noises that sounded suspiciously like bullets finding their way to the back of a car, followed by another muttered curse in Russian from Natasha.

Steve's frowned in worry. "Are you being followed?"

"Followed and shot at, yes. Are you on speaker?"

"Why would I be on speaker?"

"This might get a little loud."

Steve pressed the phone to his ear regardless. A screech of the tires. It sounded like Natasha was firing back quickly, because the gunshots were louder and clearer. Each shot was punctured by a groan or scream, indicating that Natasha's bullets had, unsurprisingly, found its target. The audio was hard to hear because of the sounds of the engine and the jostling of the car. Finally, there was a loud explosion.

The noises came to a stop, only the sound of Natasha's even breathing on the line. Her voice sounded from the phone, calm and barely out of breath, like she hadn't just been in a car chase with baddies who had shot at her. "What were you saying before, Rogers?"

"The doctors need—"

"My signature, I remember now. Can't you just forge it or something?"

"Natasha, that's illegal."

"I forgot, you're genetically unable to do anything that is the opposite of patriotic and righteous."

"Are you seriously going to bring that up right now? Just because I don't want to get arrested doesn't mean—"

"Okay, Rogers, you sign it. You're technically a guardian. Gotta go now, there are a few things I need to take care of."

"Nat—"

Click.

Steve looked at his phone. "Typical."

* * *

"Were you just talking to Natasha?" Cat asked.

"Yes."

"Did you tell her I broke my arm?"

"Yes."

Cat stared back at him, a clear question Steve couldn't read in her face. Nothing came out of her mouth, just a simple "huh."

He took a deep breath. Here came the hard part. "Cat, you know that fighting isn't always the answer, right?"

He knew that she knew exactly what point he was trying to make, and she wasn't happy with it. She gave him a look like, You don't have to speak to me like I'm a child.

She looked back with steady eyes. "Is that what you think?"

"It doesn't matter what I think. It's about what you think."

"This is like talking to a therapist," she grumbled.

He waited for her to answer.

A beat later, she answered, "Fighting isn't always the answer, obviously. But it is a helpful alternative."

"What makes you say that?"

"Like the time you fought that alien thing. I forgot what it was called...the Chitaraki. I even saw you on TV. And you saved New York. It sure seemed like the answer then."

Back to that again? "For the last time, I am not-"

"Don't even try to deny it," Cat said. "I know you're him. Your future love interest knew too. And so did that one boy drooling at you the whole time when you made that speech. I'm not blind, Steve."

"That is untrue. And that's not relevant to what I'm trying to say-"

"Aha! See? You didn't even deny it completely. Now, the real question here is how you-"

"Getting back to the point at hand," Steve said loudly. "Did you think punching that boy in the face helped your conflict?"

She clearly wasn't happy with the change in subject. Yes, said her face pointedly. "No."

Steve compared the conversation to pulling teeth. He hated this awkward, halting conversation, and reminded himself that Natasha had to deal with this everyday. "Then why did you?"

"Because," she said slowly, "he pushed me. He broke my arm." She showed her bright purple cast to him.

"Yes, but you shouldn't punch him just because he shoved you first."

"Well what do you want me to do, then?"

"Report it to an adult. Tell him to stop. Don't just punch him."

"Right," Cat said sarcastically. "The next time a mugger tries to mug me, I'll tell them politely to stop. 'Excuse me, Mr. Mugger, you're really hurting my feelings.'"

"That's not the same thing and you know it."

"How do you know what I know?"

He gave her a look.

"Okay, fine." She threw her hands up, nearly clobbering a giant teddy bear lying in the corner of the room. "I won't punch anyone in the face or anything any time soon. It's not like I can do much with this thing anyway." She looked at the cast disdainfully.

"Good."

"At my foster home, Cathy got a cast once because she fell down the swing and she had to wear it for an entire three months." Her face caved in horror. "Will I have to wear it that long?"

"Let's see what the doctor says."

"I don't like her."

"What?" Steve said, bewildered. Cat had acted okay around the smiling, positive doctor, not even making snide comments. "Why?"

"She kept on asking me-" Cat made her voice high pitched in an inaccurate imitation of the doctor's voice. "'How do you feel on a scale of one to ten?' And she was condescending. She kept on talking to me like I was a kid or something."

He shook his head at her. Some things he would never understand.


	12. Chapter 12: The Deadliness of Whip Cream

**Long time no update! Well here's the** **update! Sorry, I am way too tired and lazy to make lame excuses or a decent an intro.**

 **Disclaimer: I no own Marvel.**

* * *

A week came and went with her cast. Things stayed the same. Natasha hadn't come back, still doing her business trip thing. Cat had called her, once, but she had been too tired and had only stayed on the phone for a couple minutes. Steve was still her babysitter. He didn't let her have coffee in the mornings. She realitated by waking up at ungodly hours of the morning and drinking it by herself. School was still boring. She was ambidextrous, but she still used her cast to get out of doing most of the work. Although she did have to participate in the group activities. Alex, the kid from the principal's office, was nice but still uptight with rules. She sat with him, Roxanne, and a few other people during lunch. Things were...normal. Ish.

Cat still wasn't used to sleeping in her room.

It was odd waking up and not seeing peeling walls and other girls drooling on their respective pillows. It was weird not waking up to a growl in her stomach, or be sweaty and jittery from repeating nightmares and stifled screams. She had adjusted quickly to the foster home rooms because they were much like her old room in Kyle's scrappy little apartment.

The bed also contributed to her discomfort. The mattresses back in the foster home were as hard as rocks, and only big enough so that Cat's toes skimmed the edge. But after awhile, she had adapted to them. Her bed now was big and soft and springy, good for jumping up and down on, but not so much for sleeping. She felt like she was sleeping on a marshmallow, which should have been a good thing but she constantly felt like she was falling. So the majority of the time, Cat took her blankets and slept on the floor.

Except most days she didn't get much sleep.

But then when she slept on the floor, her cast still hurt and itched. The pain had been reduced to a throbbing faint pain, but it was still bulky and annoying to carry around everywhere. She could never get in a comfortable position on the floor. Not to mention, her various nightmares still haunted her. Dreams of the car crash, the funeral, the bullies at school, Kyle's bad nights where he went all psycho. She had them for long enough to know how to keep still and silent when she started having the urge to scream. She knew how to deal with them, she just didn't know how to keep them away.

Often she ended up skipping a few hours of sleep to either play games on her computer, go downstairs to get a snack, or wander outside and come back into the house before anyone could notice that she was gone.

Sure, it was unhealthy, supposedly. But she never needed much sleep anyway. Coffee was a way better substitute for nightmares and uncomfortable casts. She used to sneak out of the foster home all the time. The chirping crickets outside and cool night air helped her get her thoughts together and feel less alone. When she was walking out in the streets, she could think better. (One of the side effects of having ADHD was that she focused better when she was multitasking.) She'd been careful not to wake Natasha or whoever was in the house whenever she slipped outside in her new house.

She was lying on her pile of blankets on the floor, wearing an oversized T-Shirt and pajama bottoms, listening to the sounds of the night. She was ADHD, but she could lie very still when she was really tired and too lazy to move. The silence was both good and bad. One, it let her think more. Two, often she got so bored that deep memories started drifting forward.

She sat up abruptly, willing the memories to go away. She picked herself up from the floor and reached for a glass of water. The water cooled her throat and made her feel more refreshed. She was about to get back onto her makeshift bed until-

"How does the cast feel, midget?"

The sound of Clint Barton's voice nearly startled Cat into jumping several feet in the air. He had climbed up the house to Cat's window and was hanging there, propped by his elbows. He smirked at her dropped jaw.

She came over to him. "How did you climb up here? I'm two stories up!"

"I've got mad skills," he responded. "I could teach you sometime."

"How long were you watching me sleep?"

"You weren't doing much sleeping, as far as I could tell. And no, only for a few minutes." His face turned mischievous. "Why? Did I scare you?"

"In your dreams. Ever heard of knocking?" she snarked, regaining her wits quickly. The sound of her voice was hoarse from the early morning. "Or using the door, for that matter?"

"It's past midnight. Even if that you did hear it, I don't think you would have opened the door anyhow. And just for the record, knocking is overrated. Just ask Santa and his reindeer. You don't see _them_ using the door, do you?" Clint heaved himself up through the window and landed neatly on Cat's floor.

"Please. I haven't believed in Santa since I was three," she said.

He gave her a sad look. "That's depressing. What kind of tortured childhood did you have? I still believed in Santa when I was your age."

"Not too surprising, to be honest," Cat gave him a crooked half smile before she turned serious. "Why are you here, Clint? Natasha said you were busy with stuff. And it's, like-" She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "-2:49 in the freaking morning."

"I feel compelled to point out that you are also awake at 2:49 in the freaking morning. I wanted to check up on you. I just got back from a business trip. Something told me that you were going to be up this early, so here I am." Clint settled himself comfortably on her perfectly made bed, throwing his feet up as if it was his. The moonlight hit his face. With a burst of shock, Cat noticed the bruises on his face and the exhaustion lidding his eyes.

She took a seat next to him. "Clint, what happened to your face?"

"What? Did I turn ugly or something?"

She was too confused to make a quip about he was already ugly in the first place. "No, you're hurt!"

His fingers grazed the bruises lightly. "Oh, yeah. Don't worry, it's nothing. Barely stings. I got this, too." He held up his arm to show a bandage wrapped around his left bicep, dried blood on the edges. "A couple of muggers got me on the streets. Nasty guys."

Cat reached out to touch them but drew her fingers back. "It looks bad."

"You don't look too peachy yourself," he commented. "You've broken your arm. How did that happen?"

"Some boy on the soccer field pushed me," Cat said, watching Clint's face darken. "But don't worry, I socked him in the face. He's going to have a bruised jaw for a while now. Wait, how did you even know that I broke my arm?"

"Nat told me via text. Next time you see that asshole, you point him in my direction and I'll return the favor." His expression turned reprimanding. "But only I can do that. You know that fighting isn't always the answer, right?"

"Ease up," she groaned. "I already got the lecture from Steve."

Clint's eyes widened. "Steve?"

"Oh, yeah!" Cat remembered that Clint probably didn't know the blonde man. "Big blonde dude. Muscular." And she was 75% sure he was Captain America, even though he kept on denying it. She was still trying to figure out how she could trick him into admitting it or question Natasha on why she was buddy-buddy with Captain America, of all people. "He's one of Natasha's friends. He's just playing babysitter until she gets back from her business trip or whatever."

"I know Steve," which surprised Cat. "He's one of my coworkers. We're totally tight." He looked down at the blankets and pillows on the floor, noticing them for the first time. "Were you sleeping on the floor, Cat?"

"Bed's too soft."

"You should tell Nat. She could get you a harder mattress."

"I don't want to be a bother," Cat said quietly. "The floor is fine."

Clint gave her a long look, then settled back into one of the pillows. "Whatever. Why are you up so late, anyway?"

She toyed with the idea of telling him the truth for about a second, then decided _Nah_. "I just woke up a few minutes ago. You probably woke me up with all of your stalkery ways."

"I do not have _stalkery ways_."

"Uh, last time I checked, climbing up the wall of a house to watch someone while they sleep falls way past the stalker line."

He grumbled, "I come all this way with an injured arm to check up on you, and this is the thanks I get."

"Thank you, Clint." She leveled him with a look that read ' _Happy now?_ '

"You're welcome." Clint suddenly had a brilliant, evil idea. "Cat, do you happen to know where Steve is sleeping at the moment?"

She nodded, a question in her eyes. "I think he fell asleep on the couch."

"And what about the quantity of whipped cream in this huge overly excessive house?"

Her eyes lit up as she realized where he was going with this. She leaped up from the bed and started creeping toward the door. "I'll get the whipped cream and the Sharpies."

* * *

"You take the pink, I'll take the green. Give him a beard if you want. And an eyepatch," Clint instructed. "And be gentle about it. No need to wake Stevieson before our miracle transformation is over."

Cat snapped a silly salute. "Aye-aye, Captain."

Clint smirked at that.

And they got to work. It wasn't the most elaborate prank, but it was still hilarious. Clint was preparing the cans of whipped cream. Who knew Natasha was such a huge whipped cream hoarder? Cat drew an eyepatch, with Clint's instructions in mind. It was the most fun midnight prank she'd ever had.

Soon enough, Steve had a full beard, a twirly mustache monocle, and various other accessories on his face. He snored lightly through the entire thing, to Cat's amusement. Clint looked at the final art piece in satisfaction.

"Nice work, partner," he said. He handed her a whipped cream can. "Now let's get to business."

Eventually, Cat had to think _poor Steve_. His face was piled with whipped cream. There was whipped cream under his chin, under his shirt, and all over the body. And the couch, as well. He was not going to have a fun time once he woke up. Which was the entire point. Cliny cackled in mirth and snapped a few pictures with his phone.

"This is high-quality blackmail material," he told Cat.

"How is he still asleep?" Cat poked him in the side. Steve stayed motionless. A thought struck her. "Maybe he's dead."

"No, he's still breathing." Clint stared at their work in half triumph, half horror. "But there is a possibility that we could be dead once Nat sees this. We ruined her couch." He suddenly looked so horrified that his face resembled more like someone visiting a dead friend's grave than someone who had just pranked someone with whipped cream and Sharpie.

Cat saw her opening and took it. Without warning, she sprayed him in the face. He yelled out in protest. He tried ducking and turning away, but she kept her finger on the nozzle until it sputtered to a stop. His face and the top of his shirt was smeared in whipped cream. Cat giggled. He looked like a giant whipped cream monster. A glob of whipped cream dripped from his chin onto the rug.

"Oh, it is on," he growled playfully, grabbing a can.

She yelped and grabbed another can, shrieking gleefully, "Whipped cream war!"

She ran away laughing, licking the delicious white substance off of her face and ducked behind a lamp. Clint chased after her, shouting things and waving the can in the air furiously. It was obvious, however, that he wasn't really putting into an effort into chasing her. They were both laughing and spraying whipped cream into the air.

It was the most fun she'd had in _forever_. She was sticky with whipped cream all over her, aiming mindlessly at randomly objects that could be Clint and spraying. And she was having fun. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so genuinely, or freely. And all of the sudden Clint was a few inches behind her, shouting "BOO!" in her ear.

She yelled and ducked as he bowled her over. "Watch the cast!"

He stopped, giving her a concerned look. "Did I hurt you?"

"Nope!" She sprayed him in the face.

"You clever little brat!" Clint's eyes narrowed in mock anger. He pinned her to the floor and despite her squirming and laughing and begging him to stop, sprayed whipped cream all over her face. Cat lifted her chin so that the majority of it hit her mouth. She struggled free and pressed on the nozzle, only to realize it was out of whipped cream. Instead, she hit him over the head with the can. It made a loud _THUNK_ as it hit his head and bounced off.

He froze, body going still. His eyes were glazed to some point over her shoulder. Cat frowned at him, guilt prickling at her once she wondered if he had really hurt him with the can. What if she gave him a concussion? There were some pretty nasty bruises over his face. She shouldn't have hit him that hard…

"Clint, are you-"

" _What the hell is going on._ "

Cat froze as well. She so knew that voice.

She spun on her heel and cringed at the sight. The living room floor was full of whipped cream. The rugs, the couches, the furniture. A few objects had broken. Clint and her were standing in the middle of it all, covered from head to toe in the creamy white stuff and looking guiltier than criminals. They had been so focused on getting each other they hadn't noticed a certain redhead unlock the door and stare in disbelief at the scene in front of her.

Exhaustion dulled the edges of her customary hard eyes, but she held herself with her usual swagger. Her hair was straightened out. There was a butterfly bandage above her brow, but other than that she looked fine. She was wearing a tight-fitting leather catsuit, which tugged at the edges of Cat's memory, but she was too frozen to process it.

Natasha was going to take her back.

Oh, she was dead. She was so dead. She had only been living here for a couple of weeks. She'd taken everything for granted, expecting it all to be temporary. She'd known that at some point Natasha had to grow tired of her, just like all of her previous foster parents, and throw her back into the foster home. She was too troublesome, too hyper, too difficult, too mouthy. Cat had heard them all. In the weeks she lived with Natasha, she thought that maybe this time it was different from the others. But all her hopes had crumbled into bits. She just hadn't expected it to be so soon. Why was she so stupid? Desperation made her lower her head and clench her teeth so that the tears wouldn't burn behind her eyelids.

She was aware of Clint, by her side, looking every bit as stiff and startled. "Nat, before you say anything-"

"Barton, you'd better have a goddamn good explanation for this," Natasha demanded, voice like ice. It was heart-wrenching.

"We were pranking Steve," he said weakly.

Cat was looking at her feet, holding her breath. Her chest felt tight and her stomach was doing a full-out performance of the macarena. She swore she could _hear_ Natasha's eyes roll. "I can see that. I wasn't aware that 'pranking Steve' meant covering the entire living room in whipped cream."

"We were redecorating," she offered.

Clint gave her a You're-Not-Helping look. "It was a whipped cream war."

"You of all people should not be having any kind of war with your cast." The intensity of Natasha's glare shifted to Cat, although it softened a smidge when she saw the dark smudges under Cat's eyes and the tiredness in her face. "Was there any particular reason why you decided to have this at 3 am in the morning?"

She sighed without waiting for an answer. "It's too early in the morning for this. I need a shower, sleep, and Advil. I'm going to go upstairs. This place better be spotless when I come back, or else."

She drifted up the stair with her bags, graceful as a panther, stopping only to steal some of the whipped cream off the pile on Steve's face and eat it. Clint and Cat watched her go and exchanged looks of relief once she was gone.

"That woman is scary as hell," Clint muttered once she was out of earshot. "I thought the world had seen the last of us."

Cat looked after her retreating back sadly. God, the woman hated her now. She'd seen it in her eyes. She wanted Cat gone more than anything. She wanted to be relieved, like Clint was, but couldn't muster up the happiness. How could he be all joking and cheerful when Cat was going to go so soon?

Clint patted her on the back. "Let's start with cleaning this place up, yeah?"

* * *

With the help of Windex and wipes, they wiped the entire living room down. Clint roused Steve out of his slumber and after giving him a brief explanation as to why he was there, dragged him into helping them clean up. He had been outraged after finding the whipped cream in his face and clothes and made Clint delete the pictures. ("I have extras," Clint whispered, slipping Cat a wink.) After they had cleaned hosed themselves off in the garden and all taken a hot shower, Clint made a pot of coffee in celebration.

"Not for you, kiddo," he said to Cat, pouring Steve a mug and then drinking straight from the pot. "Only adults get to have coffee in the morning."

"Don't call me that. I've been awake since two," she complained. "I deserve coffee."

Steve had sided with Clint. "It's not healthy. But I could make some hot chocolate."

Cat wasn't stubborn enough to argue with the thought of Natasha kicking her out after this event. And she needed all the energy she could get, so she brought the mug of piping hot chocolate into her room to mull the day over. She steeled herself for the conversation that Natasha was going to have with her. The "I'm Sorry But You Need To Go" conversation.

Then she made her bed. She started putting all of her things scattered around the room in her tattered backpack, like that useless snowglobe and the rest of the candy. She didn't have much. She was about to put all of her new clothes in as well, before realizing that they were technically Natasha's and instead folding them as neatly as she could and stacking them on top of each other. When she was done, she checked the time.

 _5:32 AM_ , the clock read.

Cat finally looked at her room one last time. She didn't want to leave. The selfish, stupid part of her protested that she _liked_ her room. The dark drapes, the soft carpet, the good for jumping but not sleeping bed. She liked Steve, Clint, and Natasha. Steve was undoubtedly Captain America and every bit as awesome as he was in the history textbooks, Clint was comforting and fun, Natasha was caring in her own icy way. She liked her school and her friends, sort of at least. They were tolerable. And-

She was getting so stupidly sappy, it was hard listening to her own mental monologue.

She knew her feelings were one-sided. Natasha didn't even care about her, Steve was only being her friend for a favor, and Clint had to be nice to her, he was Natasha's friend as well. She didn't want to leave, but she also didn't want to go to the foster home again. She glanced at the window where Clint had entered and got an idea.

She didn't have much practice running away. She'd only done it a few times, and every time she had never made it far before the foster parents or the police tracked her down and brought her back. But this time, she _really_ didn't want to go back. She imagined the jeers and the taunts thrown her way.

" _Here comes little orphan Annie! Didn't get your Daddy Warbucks this time?"_

" _What is this, like your tenth foster home?"_

" _Why don't you just run away and never come back? You're better off there than here, where you'll never get adopted!"_

They were all right. She really _didn't_ want to leave the house, but more than anything, she didn't want to go back into the system. Cat opened the window and eyed the length from there to the ground. Not bad. If she could just leap out and drop down to the windowsill below her feet and then go down the water pipe fire pole style, she'd be fine. Her bedroom was on the back of the house, so no one would see her leave. The cast would be an issue, but eh, she'd just find a way around it. She grabbed her backpack and heaved herself up and over the window.

She lowered herself down to the top of the window sill, her back flat the wall. Cat looked up at her window. Too late to go back now. She was aware of how high she was from the ground. If she moved too fast, she might slip and end up as a lovely stain on the floor. She wasn't scared of heights, but she did have a few qualms about dying at the tender age of eight-almost-nine years old.

Slowly, she inched sideways toward the water pipe. There was nothing to hold onto, and nothing to trust except her own balance. She got close enough to grasp the water pipe. Here was where the cast was a nuisance. She had practiced going down a fire pole before when her class took a trip to the fire station. But then the pole was greased and smooth. The water pipe was by no means smooth. What if her weight pulled the pipe out and all the water started flooding the neighborhood?

She was overthinking it again. With one hand, she threw herself off the windowsill and clung to the water pipe as she slid down clumsily. She let go too early at the bottom and ended up rolling on the ground, but her backpack saved her from breaking any more bones. Cat looked at the house one last time.

 _Last time to change your plans._

Cat hesitated and started at a brisk walk in the other direction. In the movies, people always ran and made a show of it, but that would attract too much attention. She wasn't sure where she was heading, but anywhere was better than there at the moment.

She wondered if anyone would notice her absence.

* * *

 **HAHHAHAHHAHA! Plot twist! Who saw that one coming?**

 **A lot of you, probably, because it's cliche and it's great so who cares what you think? Jk, kind of.**

 **Anyway, review! It doesn't need to be a great review, or a nice one or anything. Just review, because I'm desperate. There are 100 reviews at the moment...who will be the first to break the streak?**


	13. Chapter 13: Tacos and Spider-Boy

**Peter Parker alert.**

* * *

Cat was sitting on the curb beside a Taco Bell, chin propped on her hand. The sun burned above her head. As the door of the fast food place closed, she caught a whiff of food. Her stomach growled in hunger.

Three days passed since she ran away and things were just as crappy. She wandered through the city in the day, trying her best not to attract unwanted attention by walking alongside adults and pretending they were her parents. Her plan was to get as far away from the city as possible so that no one would catch her. The days were hot, the nights were bitterly cold. It wasn't snowing yet, but signs told her that it wouldn't be long. It also meant she had trouble sleeping. On Day One, she had slept on the curve of a slide, which had been great until a bunch of little kids had come and kicked her out. Then the next day she slept on a bench, but then it rained. Her clothes had been all wet for the rest of the morning, she was shivering, and it had taken all day for them to dry.

She shivered, reminded of that morning, and was thankful that in that moment she was dry and warm. Her stomach roared again. She was _starving_.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned her head, squinting up at whoever had caught her attention. It was a young guy in a Taco Bell uniform. He was holding out a bag and a drink to her. She eyed the food with caution before deciding that her need for food outweighed her mistrust for strangers and taking it. There were two tacos, fries, and plenty of ketchup inside. She bit in a taco warily, feeling like she had hit the jackpot. Flavor exploded in her mouth. Her stomach growled _more, more, more_ but she held herself back. She had to conserve whatever food she had.

"This isn't poisoned, is it?"

"No." The Taco Bell worker smiled at her kindly. He didn't look like the type of person who would call CPS on her. "This is my lunch shift. You looked pretty hungry."

"Thanks," she muttered through a mouthful.

"Don't mention it. You looked like you needed it," he said and walked back inside the Taco Bell.

She looked after him. "Maybe there is hope for humanity after all." She chewed her taco thoughtfully and slurped her soda. She wasn't even irritated that it was Coke. It was the first time she had eaten in an entire day. The day before she had to scrounge up a couple of fries from the dollar menu at McDonald's, and the day before that was the day she'd ran away.

A dog barked. Her gaze swiveled to the dirty animal laying beside the curb, paws under its chin. She hadn't noticed it before. She was relatively sure it was a 'he'. He was small and looked young. He had matted golden fur and fearless dark brown eyes. Cat was reminded of her own blonde hair and dark eyes and felt pity for the dog. His eyes looked pitiful and large and innocent.

"Hiya, boy," she murmured, scratching his head. The dog leaned into the touch, eyes shining with intelligence. At least he wasn't shy. She noticed he had a leather collar with a silver tag. It read _Biscuit_. "Whatcha doing here so far from home?"

It whined at her in response, raising a paw to the taco in her hand. He got to his paws to sniff the taco.

"Sorry," she said firmly, holding it away from him. "You look pretty hungry and all, but this is mine."

The dog barked.

"Deal with it."

She continued eating her taco. She looked away for a split second, only to look back and realize that the taco was gone. In no seconds at all, it had disappeared. Then she realized that the golden-furred dog had swiped it from her hand and was eating the remains ravenously on the curb.

Normally she liked dogs, but between dogs and food, she liked the latter better. "Hey! Stop that, you greedy little menace!"

The dog was eating furiously, looking like he hadn't eaten for days. He probably hadn't, in reality. Cat groaned as she looked into the bag. She still had one left, but she planned on saving that for later. She started eating her fries. She would consume a third today and make it last throughout the days. The dog whined again, pawing at her jacket.

She nibbled on a fry. "You're cute, but you're greedy and you need to go away."

The dog laid back down again, surrendering. But his big eyes still eyed the fries and the grease on her hands. A mournful noise tore from his throat. Cat refused to look at them, instead choosing to focus on eating her fries.

He made that sound again.

She groaned again. "Do you _mind_? I'm trying to eat my fries in peace."

The dog responded by giving her the puppy dog eyes.

"You're cheating. Only I can give the puppy dog eyes." She rolled her eyes as the dog continued staring. "Okay, fine. You can have one, just to stop." She flicked him a fry. "Ya happy now?"

He caught the fry in his mouth neatly and barked.

"Show-off," Cat said. "You think you can buy my fries with petty tricks?" That sentence brought a smile to her face. "Heh. Petty. Pun not intended, but it was a good one."

The dog poked its head inside the bag. Cat tried tugging it away from him, but the dog resurfaced with two fries in his mouth. "Ugh! Stop doing that! I won't have any left for tomorrow!" She stuffed the bag away in her backpack.

"Break time is over," she announced to no one in particular. "Time to go."

She made it a block and a half before realizing that the dog was pathetically trailing after her. She looked at it but kept on walking at a brisk pace. The dog treaded faster as well, keeping pace with her strides. She eventually got tired of that and spun around, crouching and facing the dog.

"If you think you're being subtle, think again. I wish I could keep you, but you're only following for the fries. And then after you have them, you're just going to take off again. Duh, we both know that. So stop following me and we can both live our stupid miserable lives in peace."

She started walking again, only stopping to look back to see if the dog had followed her. The dog watched her with sad eyes, but didn't follow. Cat turned back, ignoring the small hole puncture in her heart. She _wanted_ him to go away. And he had listened. And that was that.

Why was she feeling this for a dumb dog, anyway?

* * *

The day passed in a flash. She was getting tired of walking. Her shoes were worn out and her feet were blistered. She had never walked so far, or so long. At one point she wanted to just screw all reality and hijack a car, but common sense kept her on her tracks.

At some late hour during the night, she settled down in an abandoned alleyway where there was a roof over her head. She would be protected from the rain if it came. Her eyes closed and she tried desperately to fall asleep.

Sleep did not come.

She kept on thinking of Natasha or Clint's reaction when they saw her missing from her room. The bed made, the clothes folded. Should she have left a note? It was a snap decision kind of thing, so she didn't really have time. Or paper, for that matter. She wondered if they were sad at all. Thinking about them, she felt so lonely. She was feeling that a lot lately.

For the majority of her life, she'd grown used to the gaping hole in her chest she carried wherever she went. The hole had first opened when her parents died. It cracked open further when Kyle welcomed her into his broken home, more when he started drinking and burst open the first time he threw a punch at her. It kept on growing through her foster home experiences and quiet nights with only her and her thoughts. Now it seemed to expand bigger than her chest.

A fricken' sob story. That's what her life was.

Cat kept her eyes closed, letting the cold worm its way through her jacket and seep through the ground and chill her body. Instead of balling her hands or hugging herself to make herself warmer, she laid there unmoving. She listened to her fluttering breaths and felt herself getting colder by the moment. She felt numb from the cold and her own emotions. Numb was good, she reminded herself. Numb meant that she was too unfeeling to feel anything. And not feeling anything was good. So why did she feel so bad?

And what the hell was the point of being a child genius if she always had so many questions all the time?

Something wet nudged her hand. Her eyes flashed open. At first, she thought that she was imagining things because her entire body had gotten numb and she could barely feel anything. But the lithe small form in front of her was very real. It shifted, letting the light reflect on it and show a flash of gold fur.

It was the dog who had stolen her taco. He nudged her hand once more.

"So you came back, huh," she said, her breath fogging the air. She felt drowsy. "If it was for the taco, don't bother. It's gone. I ate it on the way. Turns out, I was hungrier than I thought I was. Oh well. That means no lunch tomorrow. So I guess you can leave."

The dog didn't leave. He crawled onto her lap. Cat didn't mind that the dog was dirtier than her and also shivering. He was protecting the cold from freezing her legs and also staying, which was nice. The collar on his neck grazed her hand. She touched it and looked at the name on the surface.

"You know, you don't look much like a 'Biscuit' to me. You're tough. It's probably because you're homeless. Living on the edge and all that, right?" The dog lifted his head and looked at her. "And guess what, random dog? I'm homeless, too. Now, at least. Everyone in my life leaves me anyway. But ya know what? We can be homeless together." She patted his neck fur. It was soft. "Wow, that just sounded depressing. But who cares? No one's listening 'cept you, and it's not like you can have an opinion. No offense meant."

The dog shifted its position on her legs, lifting its head so she could scratch his neck. He didn't look offended in the slightest.

"So I just had a crazy idea-Do you want to be my dog, random dog?"

The dog regarded her with tired, yet sharp eyes. Dogs couldn't understand humans as far as Cat knew, but this one looked like he was agreeing with her.

"Is that a yes? I'm going to take that as a yes." She was talking to a dog. God, she was turning insane. But she kept on murmuring to it in a low soft voice. "I don't know why I'm talking to you like you're human or something. You can't understand me. I sound ridiculous." She paused. For a few minutes, she just continued stroking the dog's golden fur. It was weirdly soothing for some reason. The dog was relaxing at the touch, even though her hand was cold and probably unwelcoming.

"I think I'm gonna name you Taco. Because you tried to steal my Taco."

The newly christened Taco barked softly.

"I'm going to take that as a yes as well. Good night, Taco."

She fell asleep with Taco on her lap and a warm feeling in her heart.

* * *

"Wake up, little girl."

She woke up, yet not opening her eyes. The voice was deep and ominous. There were three or more steps of footfalls heading in her direction. She felt Taco awaken along with her. He jumped off her lap and growled menacingly at the men. It was clear the universe held some kind of grudge toward her. She let her eyes open. Her suspicions were confirmed. Two men and one woman were standing above her. The sky was dark but they all had a weapon of some kind and a grim expression. In the dim lighting, the woman's bright red lipstick looked like blood.

Cat sat up abruptly, complaining, "Seriously? I can't get two hours of sleep? What is with you muggers and your ungodly hours of robbing people?"

"We aren't muggers."

"What are you, then? Girl Scouts?"

The woman gave the men a look. "I can tell this one is infuriating already."

"She is valuable," the man with a crew cut said darkly. He didn't mean it as a compliment.

"I still don't see why we can't just get rid of her after we're done with her," the woman sighed. "Preferably with a knife and leaving a motionless corpse behind."

"We need her to complete our assignment," said Crew Cut. "Soon the woman will be dead and we can dispose of the girl as well."

Natasha had been right. There _were_ some weird people in the streets. She coughed loudly and quickly got to her feet, grabbing her backpack in case she had to make a quick escape. "Excuse me, evil people? I'm right here. And I can hear what you're saying, loud and clear. Plotting my death in front of me isn't a super good idea. I can't tell if you guys are weird or psychopaths or both."

They ignored her. The woman advanced. "Give us your backpack, girl."

"No dice, weird lady," Cat said firmly. She was already evaluating her setting, searching for escape routes. "My clothes are in there."

The man with a ponytail glared. "Hand it over."

"What are you, deaf? I said no. N-O. No."

Crew Cut backhanded her across the face. Hard enough to really sting, but it didn't hurt that much. Cat had taken worse before. She wanted to spit at his feet, but even she wasn't that stupid. These people had sharp things and guns. The weird lady hadn't been fooling around with her death threats, either. Unless she wanted a bullet in her brain, Cat would have to play by their rules. For now.

She gave her backpack to him. He gave it to the weird lady, who just rifled through it. She did that for a few minutes, in which Cat and the rest of the men stared at each other in awkward silence. Cat guessed she was searching for weapons or hidden pockets or something. Whatever she wanted, the lady didn't find it. She threw it back to Ponytail Man with a shake of the head and signaled to give it back to Cat.

"Just making sure," the woman with the lipstick told the men vaguely.

"Making sure of what?" Cat asked innocently.

"Shut it, girl," Crew Cut said, and struck her again. She staggered back in shock, tasting blood. _Ow_ , that one was bad.

Taco sprang up from his previous crouch, barking furiously. He leaped onto Crew Cut, who was bowled over by the force of the tiny golden dog, and sank his teeth into the man's face. Crew Cut howled in agony and threw the dog off of him. Taco hit the side of a garbage bag but charged forward again. He clawed and bit at the man's legs. Red Lipstick and Ponytail Man were coming to his aid, trying to get the dog off of them.

While Crew Cut was distracted, Cat fisted her hands and nailed Ponytail Man with a vicious uppercut. His head was yanked backward like a puppet, cursing like a sailor, but he didn't fall. She tripped him with one foot and stomped on his leg. He cried out in pain. Taco returned to her side. She scratched his head, and told him, "Good boy! Good dog!"

Hands grabbed her around her shoulders. She'd forgotten about the lipstick woman. Cat instinctively kicked out, her legs giving away under her. She dropped to the ground, dead weight, but the arms still pulled her back in.

"Stop that," the woman hissed. "If you cooperate, you will suffer less pain when we finally decide to dispose of you."

"I'd rather not be disposed of, thanks!" Cat continued to struggle.

"Aargh!" Red Lipstick yelled as one of her arms got free and she clumsily slapped her in the face. Ponytail Man and Crew Cut had recovered from their assaults and were making their way to the two as fast as they could.

She began to panic. If they got in the picture, she'd have no chance of escape. Taco, the wonderful loyal dog, was nipping at their ankles but he made no progress in stopping them. They reached her in a few strides and clamped her arms behind her back.

"HEY!" Someone above them yelled. "That isn't very nice!"

Red Lipstick looked up and muttered, "Christ."

A blue and red figure swung in from literally nowhere and pried the woman off Cat. He punched her in the face faster than Cat could process and held out his arm to her staggering figure. He said something to himself that sounded like, "Karen, do the trapping sedative web thingies" and then _out of nowhere_ a flurry of whitish material shot out of his freaking arm and pinned the woman to the wall. The woman's head dropped as she fell unconscious. That was a neat trick.

"I'll be right back to you. Please hold," he said to the woman and ducked just as Crew Cut's fist went over his head. He whirled around to punch the two men in the face simultaneously. There was a horrible cracking noise. They crumpled to the ground like rag dolls. The fight lasted only about three seconds before the blue and red man took them out.

Cat was already inching away from the fight, preparing to grab Taco and run at a second's notice. The blue and red man could handle the bad guys. He was obviously strong and really fast. She was pretty sure he had enhanced abilities, like those super people on TV. She needed to get away before the guy could attack her, too.

"Seriously? You need three people to mug one little girl? Your fighting skills must be crap." He shot a flurry of the whitish sticky things to the two men as well and pinned them against the floor. Then he turned his head to look at Cat, who had a startling realization.

The spider symbol on his chest. His enhanced fighting skills. The quips. The whitish sticky things, which was webs. He was the Spider-Man. And she was an idiot. Well, she didn't need to worry about him attacking her anymore. Unless he had turned evil to the other side, but she didn't think that was an issue.

"Hey," he said, voice gentle, "are you okay?"

She wiped a little blood off her cheek. Her mouth was still smarting. "Fine. Thanks for taking those guys out." She nodded to the two men on the ground and the unconscious woman trapped in the webs.

"No problemo. It's kinda my job. Oh, I'm Spider-Man by the way." He held his blue and red clad hand out.

She shook it. "I know. The flashy red and blue is a huge giveaway." A giveaway that she didn't notice until he looked her in the face.

"Yeah, I guess. I wanted to be recognizable." He didn't sound like a man. His voice sounded high and still had a bit of a childish sound to it, like a teenager. "What's your name?"

"Cat." She cocked her head at him. "You don't sound like a man. You sound like a teenager. Maybe your name should be Spider-Boy."

"W-what?" he stammered, all of the sudden nervous. His voice had jumped at least three octaves. Yup, definitely a boy. "What gave you that idea? I'm a man! Spider- _Man_. With the hyphen."

She shrugged breezily. "If you say so, Spider-Boy. I think it's cool that you're a teenager and stopping crime and punching bad guys in the face and all that."

The eyes in his suit widened a little. "Well, uh, thanks. I'm not admitting that I'm a boy. I'm a man," he said quickly. Cat noticed he kept on repeating that. "Anyway, it's doesn't matter. Want me to give you a ride back home?"

"Nope, that's okay. I can find my way from here."

"Are you sure? I'd feel better if I did."

"I'm scared of heights," she lied. "And I don't think my dog can handle all the swinging from buildings either."

Spider-Man patted Taco on the head. Taco approved and licked the hand. "Good dog! What's his name?"

"Taco. I named him that because he stole my taco from my hand when I was eating it. That's how I met him."

"He looks like he's a good dog." He looked back at her. "Do you want me to call your parents?" Spider-Man fished out a phone from somewhere on his person and gave it to her.

"No, thanks. I don't know their phone number." She said, which was partially the truth, and then thought that might seem a little sketchy. "I have foster parents. I just moved in with them."

"Oh." He took the phone back. Cat couldn't read the look on his face, which she thought was a little frustrating. She couldn't tell if he knew she was lying or not. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to walk you home? It's pretty late out, and it's dark. And you nearly just got clobbered by three baddies."

"No, no." Unlike with most adults, his constant questioning didn't make her annoyed. He sounded like he was really concerned and cared about her, even though he met her two seconds ago. "Don't you have vigilante things to do anyway?"

"Yeah, I guess," he muttered.

"I'd better get back quickly."

He nodded and shot a web up at the roof. "See you around, Cat." He prepared to be swung up, but then he tripped over a garbage bag and landed on his face. "Ow!"

"See you around too, Spider-Boy," she said amusedly.

"Be safe!" He got up gracefully and swung away, doing a flip in the air in the process.

Taco licked her hand. Cat looked at him. "Well, that was a hell of a dramatic exit."

* * *

 **We got 13 reviews in less than 24 hours, so I decided to update super fast. Let's see if we can get more than 15 this time! REVIEW it helps!**


	14. Chapter 14: Bad Decisions

**I think I may have turned blind. I got like 25 reviews in two days. That's officially the record for now. I only expected like two or three more than last time, but...wowowoow! I was so excited I wanted to update right away, but you know, school and other equally unnecessary things. (I'm joking. Kids, stay in school.) So then I decided to update.**

 **Just a little warning for you all before you read the chapter. It turns a little dark at the end, so be prepared for that. If you don't want to read that kind of thing, then don't. But it's kind of essential to this story, though, so your choice.**

 **Usual Disclaimer(So I don't get sued): I don't own Marvel.**

* * *

"At least the living room doesn't look like a pigsty, so I'd say that's a plus."

Clint and Steve looked up in the direction of her voice and saw her coming down the stairs. There were discarded mugs and an empty pot of coffee on the table. They were sitting around the table. Clint was shoveling Lucky Charms into his mouth, occasionally taking a swig of milk. Steve was looking much better than the last she'd seen him. The whipped cream was gone from his face and he was looking tired. Pink and green sharpie still remained on his face.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Cap, have you looked in the mirror lately? You seemed to have grown a beard. A bright green one."

"Yes," he grumbled. "That's not coming off anytime soon, is it?" He directed the last sentence to Clint pointedly.

Clint held up his hands in surrender, holding up the box of cereal in his hand as well. "Don't blame it all on me! Cat was the one who did most of the drawing!"

Natasha whacked him on the head with no particular gentleness, snatching the Lucky Charms from his hands. "Don't shift the blame, Hawkeye. I'd bet all my money that you were the one who came up with the idea." She looked at Steve. "You'd better pray that there aren't any Avenger missions, or else you'll have to spend the entire fight with Sharpie marker on your face."

"Let's change the topic from this." He gave her a wincing smile. "I suppose you saw the damage?"

"Yes. Thanks to Clint, my couch is permanently ruined and it smells like lots and _lots_ of whipped cream." She cut him a glare.

"Whipped cream doesn't have that strong of a smell," Clint protested lightly. "I think the smell is nice." He handed her a cup of coffee wordlessly. She swirled it around in the cup. He knew how she liked her coffee; a little cream and a tiny spoonful of sugar. She chugged half of it down.

"I don't," she said, wiping her mouth. "And I have no words for those lumps of coal on the kitchen counter." She pointed at the tray of blob shaped black substances.

"Cat wanted to make cookies." Steve said apologetically. The cookies on the counter spoke lengths on how that went. "Her methods were...unorthodox."

"I can see that." She looked around. "Speaking of Cat, where is she?"

"Upstairs." Clint snatched the Lucky Charms back when her head was turned.

Steve stood up. "I'll go check on her."

"No, I'll do it." Natasha said, picking up her coffee. She went up the stairs and stopped to look at the door. Before there had used to be a sign scribbled in Cat's slanted handwriting that read plainly, _Knock._ But that sign was torn off, something that she thought was odd but didn't think much of it. Cat was probably redecorating or whatever.

"Cat, you in there?" she asked the door to her room. She rapped twice with her knuckles, but there was no response. "I'm coming in."

Again, no response.

She frowned, a hint of worry creeping in, and opened the door. She was surprised at what she saw and wondered if maybe she had opened the wrong door. The bed was made, every sheet straightened out and the blanket perfectly folded like there had been no one there. There were no clothes laying around, no mess, no sign that Catalina Gray had lived in the room at all. There was a mug on the counter, half full of hot chocolate.

"Cat? Where are you?" Natasha said without expecting a verbal answer. She had a sick feeling that she knew what had happened, but wasn't about to give up hope without checking everything first.

She stepped in the room and walked in, her feet falling without sound on the carpet. She had gotten the right door, but there was no sign of Cat. She looked around, searching for a blonde haired girl hiding somewhere. The bathroom was meticulously clean as well. The toothbrushes and toothpaste were gone, the towels straightened on the rack.

Natasha went back out and scanned the room. There! A stack of clothes, looking like they were hastily but neatly folded and purposefully pushed away in the corner. They were the clothes that Natasha had brought her a few weeks ago, when she had arrived. But why would a kidnapper do something like that? So Cat hadn't been kidnapped; she had left willingly.

The window was open. A light wind rustled through. Natasha leaned out of it and looked below. There were dusty footprints on the window sill below, and the water pipe showed evidence that someone had clumsily slid down it. Her features set. She knew what Cat had done.

But why? Maybe she had been planning it all along, waiting for the right moment, but that didn't make sense. She had plenty of time to escape, like at night and was clever enough to trick her or Steve into leaving her alone at the house for a few hours. But this had to be a split second decision; If she wanted to escape she could have gone at night instead of the morning.

She came out of Cat's room and leaned over the railing. The two men looked at her, knowing something was wrong by her face. "I think Cat ran away," she said grimly.

The two had demanded explanations immediately. They had all searched the house of where Cat could be and came up with nothing. They ended up all sitting at the dining table with a bowl of Lucky Charms in the middle, trying to think of what to do. Natasha explained what she had seen and her theories about the matter.

"But...why?" Clint asked. "She was happy here. At least I _thought_ she was happy here."

"I asked the same question." Natasha ran through the event that had happened during the last few hours. Cat had been happy when she was "redecorating" with Clint. Then she recalled the way the girl's face had crumpled after Natasha arrived. She recognized that look. Comprehension dawned upon her, and she felt confusion mixed with guilt at it. Cat thought that she was going to return her to the foster care. But...surely she wouldn't believe that Natasha wouldn't really do that, would she?

Clint looked at her sharply, detecting that she had realized something. She shook her head, a silent message: _I'll tell you later._ She'd have a talk with Cat later if they found her. _When_ they found her, she told herself determinedly.

"This isn't the time to ask why." Steve grabbed his jacket. "We have to go find her. She couldn't have gotten far."

"Should we call the police?" Clint asked, getting to his feet as well. "Or the Avengers? Tony do something on his tech thingamajig and find her."

The amount of worry in his and Steve's eyes made her feel slightly taken aback. She supposed it wasn't too surprising. Cat Gray, with her clever dark eyes and adorable frown, had a penchant for earning the affection of the unlikeliest people. Natasha shook her head. "That would be helpful, but it would look too suspicious if the Avengers were spotted scouring the city for a little girl. And there will be too many questions from the team. I know Tony. He won't help unless he has the information. By the way, everything I've told you about Cat is strictly confidential. If SHIELD or Hydra finds out about her, there will be no telling what they'll do to use her as bait."

"Roger that," said Clint, head jerking up at Steve as if wondering if he should point out the pun he just made, then thinking better of it. There were more important things at stake. "How should we do this, Cap?" They both looked at him. He was their best strategist, after all.

"Right. I'll take my motorbike, Natasha can take the car, and Clint can…" Steve frowned at him. "How did you get here again?"

"I walked."

"You can take Natasha's car. You guys go downtown, I'll search in the other direction."

Natasha was already halfway out the door before he could finish his sentence.

* * *

"You look like a mess," Cat told her reflection in the mirror.

There were dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. Her hair was all tangly and messy and sticking all over the place. There was a dark bruise on the side of her face from the fight three days ago. It was fading, but still hadn't completely healed. Her face was smeared with dirt amongst other things, and she just had a tired look to her.

She was standing in a bathroom at a random fast food restaurant(she was too lazy to read the sign when she stumbled through at 6 in the morning), too exhausted to do anything except look at her reflection. Taco was sitting patiently beside her feet, not making any noise like she'd instructed him too. (She was teaching him how to behave. He must've been taught how to behave in his old home because he knew all of the basic commands like 'sit' and 'stay' and, for some reason, how to shake hands.)

Cat splashed some water on her face. It only made the dirtiness spread more, so she wet a paper towel and cleaned her face the best she could while nearly nodding off. She had spent the entire last night sleeping in a homeless shelter, where the snores of everyone kept her awake and on edge. She had discarded her old clothes at the shelter, and now wore jeans that were cut off mid-shin, a clean shirt, an oversized hoodie with a faded logo that swallowed her whole.

Once she was satisfied with her face, she tried taming her hair by running wet fingers through her blonde locks with virtually no success of untangling it. She straightened out her clothes, trying a determined look in the cracked mirror. She looked a little less terrible.

Thank god she didn't feel unclean anymore. The night before, at the shelter, she had taken a shower and had a decent meal that only tasted partially expired. Ah, the luxuries of life. Clean water and mostly unexpired food.

Cat had nearly made it a week of living in the streets. It was day five(not that she was counting). Her meals were strictly from the dollar menu or just scrounging things up from places whose origin she would be better off not knowing. She shared half of them with Taco, who gobbled them up like they were made in heaven. She was consistently walking, traveling, her goal to get to the other side of the city. Her cast was giving her looks from random strangers, and she really needed to shower.

In a way, it was nice. The luxury of not having adults telling her what, where, and how to do things was appreciated. There was a satisfaction in not being caught by the police or Child Protective Services. She was also learning about how to survive in the city. The day before, when she had stopped by a homeless shelter, she had sat with a group of dirty children her age and listened with open ears as they each talked about their own experiences on the streets.

She didn't stay there for long. The moment the sun hit the sky she was out of there and walking. That was another thing. She was waking up earlier than she used to. She was feeling dizzy and dehydrated from the lack of coffee intake her body was experiencing. It was awful. Maybe she'd skip a meal and buy a cup of cheap coffee instead.

Cat looked at her reflection again. The dark circles still remained under her eyes, but other than that she looked not-homeless. "Good enough."

"Agh!" She put her uninjured hand to her head as there was a sudden, sharp pain. The room was spinning fast. It wasn't supposed to do that, was it? She closed her eyes, which only made it worse. She felt dizzy and hot. Then, just as quickly as it came, it went away. Taco whined at her, jumping up and putting his paws on her legs.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Cat muttered. "Probably just hungry."

She rummaged around in her backpack to find a few crumpled bills. That was good. She really needed coffee.

Ten minutes later, she was slipping Taco bits of her McMuffin as discreetly as she could under the table. The fast restaurant(which turned out to be McDonalds) was not animal friendly. She ducked her head to look at him. He whimpered and tried climbing up the seat to eat more food.

She pushed him down gently, letting him lick the grease of her fingers. She smiled as his wet tongue tickled her palm. " _Stay quiet_ ," she mouthed.

She quickly learned that the command _stay quiet_ was one of the things that Taco's old family didn't teach him. He started barking and running around under the table like crazy.

"Shhh!" Cat hissed. Other people had stopped eating to look at the spectacle. She tried stopping Taco from destroying the table with zero success. "Stop doing that!"

A man dressed in a black apron with the yellow M McDonalds logo stitched on it rushed over, obviously wondering what the noise was about. He sported an enormous unibrow and blotchy red cheeks. He saw the dog barking under the table and started, wild fear in his eyes. He pointed at Taco accusingly.

"Is tha-that a dog?" His voice rose at the end in fear. Taco stopped freaking out to look curiously at the man with wide eyes.

 _No, it's a pigeon._ "Yes. He's my dog." Cat adopted an innocent, childish voice. She widened her eyes and tilted her head in confusion. "Is there a problem?"

"You can't have dogs in here, kid!"

She pouted. "Why? He's my dog!"

"I don't like dogs." The man in the apron turned red. "There's a sign on the door! It says, no dogs. Don't you know how to read, girl?"

Cat nodded several times. "Yes, sir. But I didn't see the sign."

He liked the 'sir' addition, but didn't waver. "Of course you didn't! Kids these days don't know how to read a simple sign! Where are your parents, anyway?"

"My dad is in the bathroom." She pointed in case he had hearing issues as well.

"Well, then let's wait for him, shall we?"

"Okay," she said earnestly, then resumed wolfing down her McMuffin. She accidentally on purpose dropped a piece of her breakfast near the man's black shoes, and just like she had predicted the dog sprang around the man's toes to get the piece, barking. The man edged away, fear clear in his body language.

"Hey girl, call off your dog!"

"Down, Taco," she told him firmly. He sat obediently with his tail wagging, eyes bright and amused. Cat had a feeling that he knew exactly how much the man sucked.

"Taco?" the man asked in disbelief. He was still looking at Taco as if the small starving dog would swallow him whole at any interval. However, his fear didn't stop him from saying, "That's what kids name their dogs these days? No wonder the IQ level is going down since the last generation."

"Says the man working at a McDonalds," Cat said to herself.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing, sir." She gave him a strange look. "Are you hearing things?"

Taco inched closer to the man. The guy jumped about three feet in the air, getting easily agitated. He had a serious problem with dogs. He looked at the men's bathroom door. "Your father getting out anytime soon, little lady?"

"He'll be back."

"Yeah, well you can tell your dad that as soon he gets outta there, you folks can take your merry selves out the door. The dog as well."

"Of course!" she said brightly, pretending to not notice the dark look he shot Taco. "Why would we leave Taco behind?"

The moment the man turned his back, a wave of heat rolled over her face. For no apparent reason, her face felt like a hundred degrees. Cat's head pricked with the same sharp pain and spinning dizziness she had experienced earlier in the bathroom. She closed her eyes, preventing sound from escaping her mouth as pain exploded in her head. Taco stayed quiet this time, only pressing against her leg for comfort. This time the pain stayed for longer. When it was gone, she dumped her tray in the trash and hurried out the door as fast as she could.

She really needed to stop those headaches.

* * *

Natasha was sure that they could find Cat. They had been searching for four days and seen no sign of the girl. She hadn't slept in at least three days, taking the night time as an advantage. Not one person they'd asked had seen a short blonde haired girl with a purple cast. They had searched everywhere they could, and yet...nothing. Clint had taken to wander through the shops to ask random people while she drove along the streets finding people to intimidate.

She stopped a woman and a tall dark haired man who she presumed was the woman's husband and asked them if they had seen someone with Cat's description. The woman began to shake her head, exchanging a sympathetic look with her. Natasha nodded understandingly and turned away, not really expecting anything different at that point, when the husband called out, "Wait!"

Natasha looked back.

"I think I saw a girl of your description following us this once. She had a purple cast."

The woman looked at her husband. "Really? When?"

"Just a few hours ago. I'm a police officer," he told Natasha. "I know when someone is following me, and the little girl was. She wasn't being very subtle about it, either. Trailing right behind our heels."

"How did she look?" Natasha wanted to know, leaning closer.

The husband couldn't help flinching back at the demanding spark in her eyes. "Like you said. Blonde hair and brown eyes. I couldn't really get a good look at her. Every time I turned around she would slip out of the way. But she looked like a regular homeless kid. I think she had a dog with her, too."

Her brow creased. Cat didn't have a dog. Natasha pulled up a picture on her phone. "Did she look like this?" Without her noticing, Cat managed to get her hands on her phone one time and taken a bunch of selfies. Natasha had found it hilarious, so she didn't delete them. It was a good thing she didn't. The picture she pulled up was one where Cat was looking at the camera crossed eyed with a crooked smirk etched on her face.

The husband squinted at it. "I think so. Wait, yes! Yes, that's definitely her."

"How are you so sure?" the wife asked.

"I'm a policeman," he shrugged. "Lots of practice memorizing faces." He directed his next words at Natasha. "If you want to, I could send out a search party to look for this girl. I can tell you care for her very much."

 _What?_ Was her face that much of a giveaway? "That's very kind of you, but I don't think that's necessary right now. Can you tell me where you saw her last?"

He gave her the directions and wished her luck finding her.

"Thanks," Natasha told him with a small smile, hope blossoming in her chest. She texted the information to Steve and Clint. They had a lead.

* * *

Cat browsed the medical section in the convenience store. She had left Taco outside this time. She didn't have a leash to keep him on, but if he was the loyal dog he seemed to be, he would follow her instructions and stay. Then again, her instructions were a hit-and-miss thing with Taco. Sometimes he would follow her instructions explicitly and then he would do the exact opposite thing she told him to do(refer back to the incident at McDonalds).

She mouthed the different brands as she passed them quietly, looking for one that would cure headaches. There was a bottle of Tylenol, but it was way too expensive. Most of the medicines here were too expensive. She spotted a small container that read _HEADACHE INSTANT RELIEF! AS SEEN ON TV_! Well, if that was anything to go by…

That was all she needed to know. They cost four-ninety nine. She only had four dollars and fifty cents, but hopefully that would suffice. She brought her item up to the cashier, a middle aged man wearing a nametag that read _MARK_ and the logo of the convenience store on it.

"That will be $5.21," he droned.

"But the price tag said $4.99!" Cat said.

"They're called taxes, sweetheart. Do you have the money or not?"

She forked over her four dollars and her fifty cents, praying that he didn't notice. But of course he did. Pesky adults and their intuition skills when you least needed them.

"This is four dollars and two quarters."

"Yes," she responded simply.

"You need at least two dollars more."

"Please. It's for my mother," Cat said desperately. "She's been getting horrible headaches. Please, mister, _please_. We're really not that rich and she's just been so-"

"Let me stop you right there," Mark said. He looked startled, not used to having much interaction with customers with sob stories. He glanced around secretively, despite no one being in the store except and old lady looking at dentures and a teenage boy poring over model magazines. "I'm really not supposed to do this, but just this once, I'll let you have the pills."

"Thank you, sir!" Cat said in relief that wasn't as fake as the rest of her story. She was doing an awful lot of acting and lying lately. Maybe she should think about being an actress. "My mother will appreciate it."

Mark took the four dollars and fifty cents, shrugging. "My pleasure."

As soon as she got out, holding the bottle of pills, she took Taco(who hadn't left her, thankfully) and wandered into an abandoned alleyway. There were a lot of those in New York. It reminded her a little too much about the time that muggers tried to kill her and Spider-Man had saved her a few days back, but it was quiet and no one could see her crouched behind the wall.

"Let's take a break from walking, Taco," she told the golden dog.

Taco barked.

"That's your response for everything, isn't it? I mean, there isn't really anything else you could say, but still..."

Taco nudged the bottle with his nose.

Cat moved it away from him. "Nope. Not for you. If you eat one you might get sick and end up in the hospital. Actually, you might not go to the hospital because I'm broke at the moment. So you'd probably just die."

Taco wagged his tail excitedly and covered her face in licks.

She pushed him away, laughing. "Not right now, Taco. I need to take one of these things first. Or maybe two." She looked at the label, wondering what it read. She was halfway down the instructions when the pain hit her again. It was becoming more continuous, and more terrible as the day went on. She winced in as the pain took over her.

Screw the instructions. One or two pills couldn't hurt, could they? She dumped two pills out of the bottle and popped them in her mouth. She took out a bottle of water and downed some of it down with the pills. Her head was spinning with so much pain that water spilled down her chin without her realizing it. If she hadn't swallowed out of instinct, she might have choked.

The spiking in her head didn't stop. It kept on pressing against her head. It felt like someone was going upside her head with an iron hammer, except the someone was _inside_ her head and trying to break out with the hammer while jumping up and down on her brain in the process. Her face felt like it was on fire. Her arms, legs, and face were tingling. The pill had absolutely no effect on her.

Cat lifted the bottle to the light, trying to make out the instructions on how many to take. But the words blurred together as her eyes watered with pain. She couldn't make out any of it. Her feeble attempt just made the headache worse. Maybe she was supposed to take more than one pill. After all, that's how most companies made them. She had taken gummy vitamins before, and all of them said to either take two or three or four. One more couldn't hurt, court it?

She dumped more pills out and put them in her mouth. Water. Swallow. Repeat. After one or two repeats of this(or maybe three or four. She had lost count after the first), the pain started to lessen just a little. But it wasn't fast enough. She wanted the pain to stop now. Like, NOW now. She took one more pill, put it in her mouth, and raised her water bottle. But no water came out. She kept on tipping it further and further, craning her neck back, before realizing that she had run out of water. Her only water left. Then, the pain in her head cleared.

"That's better," Cat slurred, feeling better than she had in a long time. She was floating and sinking at the same time. There was a weird feeling in her head now. And her stomach.

The bottle in her hand was lighter than it had been a few minutes ago.

"Ow, ow, ow," she groaned suddenly, leaning over to vomit on the floor next to her. She retched and felt sicker than she had all her life. Taco growled in concern, licking her face. She batted him away. "Not now Taco." The pain in her head was gone, but now her stomach doubled. She felt...worse than bad. Worse than worse than bad. Like someone had taken all the needles ever made in the world and jabbed them into her stomach, one by one, prickling not outside, but _inside_ of her.

She couldn't stay upright any longer. She fell to the ground, making sure that it wasn't the side with the vomit, and crawled into a fetal position. The sounds coming out of her mouth didn't sound like they were coming out of her. They sounded faint, like she was hearing the distant noises of someone else's suffering.

She stayed conscious long enough for her jumbled thoughts to spell out, _I am so screwed._

* * *

 **Okay...so a few of you might be thinking, "Well that escalated quickly". And I wasn't sure how I felt about how the story took this turn, so tell me in your review. Also comment on if you thought how Natasha's reaction was to cat's leaving and basically your thoughts on this chapter. As you can see, my updating miraculously turned from being once every two weeks to like once in two days, dot dot dot...(so you should review).**


	15. Chapter 15: Hospitals Are Not Hospitable

**I'm getting really bored of writing this disclaimer, but here it is: I don't own Marvel. Ever. It's been done already.**

* * *

Distant voices, far away from her. Cat couldn't make out what they were saying. A dog barking. She was in a haze of pain, lying on her back in...she didn't know where she was, neither did she remember how she got there. She was lying on her back somewhere dark, that was the only thing she could think of. She felt footsteps coming closer. Her eyes were drooping, she felt weirdly tired.

Someone screamed softly, the voice closer than it had been three seconds ago. Her eyes flew open in alarm. "Jeremy, come look at this! There's a kid here!"

There was someone standing over her, their face blurring out of focus. Cat couldn't tell if it was male or female, old or young, she wasn't aware of anything at the moment. Her thoughts fled from one thing to another, bouncing around in her head and going nowhere. Sounds faded in and out of her pain. Beeping of car horns, footsteps, shouts, a dog barking next to her ear. She dimly felt twinges of pain, but they made her more confused than anything. A bark sounded again.

That was odd. She didn't remember a dog.

"Kid!" Someone prodded her. "Make a sound if you can hear me."

Cat mumbled, "Don't call me kid." Her chest ached when she spoke, the words coming out like rocks rolling out from her dry mouth. Something wet brushed against her fingers. It felt like a tongue.

There was a clink of something plastic dropping to the ground, and then another bark. "Oh my god. Oh my god!" The plastic was picked up from the floor, small solid objects rattling in an orange tinted container. Cat recognized it, and recalled something about swallowing them down, water pushing them down her throat. She shuddered, cold.

"I'm calling 911." Another voice, different from the one before. Deeper and more commanding. "Hello? I found a girl laying on the floor in an alley. She appears to be injured. There's a bottle of pills next to her." Pause. "Yes, I'll do that. Okay. Thank you." Then- "They're coming."

The first voice said, "You're going to be just fine, sweetie."

Cat blinked at her groggily. What did they mean, just fine? She was fine now. She tried to sit up, but the person pushed her down. "No, no, no. Don't do that. You're not in stable condition."

"Yes, I am," she argued weakly, then found that she no longer possessed the strength to heave herself up. Something was wrong with her. What was wrong with her? Before she could go down that rabbit trail, she felt her eyes drooping.

"Don't wanna fall asleep," she said before she passed out.

* * *

After that Cat's memory got fuzzy. She remembered people talking in urgent voices, bursts of color, muffled sounds all around her. The dizziness dulled and the pain subsided, the only thing that she was actually thankful for. The first time she gained conscious completely, she glimpsed two people in white that were carrying her on something that felt like a giant hammock. One of them was talking to her in a low, comforting voice, but she couldn't make out most of the words. She was carried into an ambulance and put on a bed. An IV was hooked to her arm. Everyone else was rushing around frantically, but her ears were buzzing with a noise that made her feel separate from the world.

They injected her with something that made her feel sleepy and tired, although she wasn't nodding off yet.

"Hey," someone next to her said casually. Cat looked to the person. She registered that she was a woman with light coffee skin, black hair, and brown eyes. "Can you tell me your name?"

"It's Cat. Catalina Gray, if you want specifics, but I like Cat better." She wasn't sure why she was telling the woman so much about herself. Maybe it was the thing they injected into her. Maybe it was truth serum. "Who—" She had to break off in a fit of coughing. "Who are you? Where are you taking me?"

Kind brown eyes twinkled at her. "We're going to the hospital. You overdosed on headache medicine."

"Really? Like the way people overdose on drugs? Is that bad? Am I going to die?" She didn't feel fear, just mild curiosity.

"No, not like drugs. And you're not doing to die, so don't worry. Although I'd recommend saving all of that energy so that you don't feel tired later. The doctors gave you something that'll make you pass out in a few minutes, okay?" The woman looked at her. "For now, we just need to know your parents' information."

"Well, you can't have it. They died," Cat said, an odd feeling of lightness dancing around her head. She felt nothing, no grief, no sadness. For some reason the truth tumbled off of her tongue without her consent. "Long time ago. But now I have Natasha. Well, I used to have Natasha. I thought she was an all right sort of person at first but then I ran away cuz she was going to throw me back in the system because she's mean and she's like that. And now I'm here, lying down in a truck with someone I've never met in my life. You haven't answered by questions, by the way. And my head hurts a lot."

"Slow down a little there," The woman looked frazzled with all the information she was getting. "Who's Natasha?"

"A woman. She has red hair. She's like my super distant relative but she looks nothing like me. Maybe she's an alien and she comes from a planet where everyone is related and they all look super different and have magical powers."

Wait, where did that come from? And why was she blabbering so much? She couldn't stop herself from rambling on and would have kept on going, except then the woman sitting next to her asked, "Do you know her phone number?"

"She only told me it once for emergencies, but I remember. I have good memory. Hey, you know my teacher said I was a child genius? I thought she was kinda crazy after that but it was actually kinda true."

"Can you tell me her phone number?"

"Sure." Cat rattled off the phone number, knowing it by heart.

The woman wrote it down on her hand, and repeated it to make sure that she hadn't given her the wrong one. Cat confirmed that she had wrote it down correctly. Then the woman left to speak with someone in the front. In that short period of time, Cat couldn't help herself from blacking out.

The second time she opened her eyes, she was still in the ambulance. Her thoughts were clearer this time, the throb in her head less, and she briefly wondered where Taco was. She didn't have time to recall any detail of how she had gotten in the ambulance, because she felt bile rising in her throat. She leaned over the bed and threw up. Thankfully, someone with quick reflexes had pushed the bucket in place just in time, and her vomit thudded into it.

"You're awake," someone, who she presumed was the same woman from before, said beside her. "Are you thirsty?"

"Yes," she rasped, not turning to look. She was too tired to refuse or to think about whether or not the water was poisoned.

"Open your mouth."

She complied, and the woman tipped a bottle of water over her mouth carefully. Water spilled into her parched mouth and onto her cracked lips. Clean water. It was cool against her tongue. She washed it around for a moment before swallowing. It hurt to swallow. It was the most beautiful taste she had ever experienced. Then she leaned over the bed again and more disgusting stuff fell into the bucket.

"That was gross," Cat said to no one. The ambulance rocked and went over a speed bump. She felt a wave of nausea come over her but fought the urge to throw up again. She merely closed her eyes and pressed her lips together.

The woman sitting next to her stroked her head with cool fingers. She didn't like people touching her under any circumstances, but once again lacked the energy to tell the person to stop. In a way, it was strangely soothing. But also weird. More weird than comforting.

With nothing to focus on except the incessant rocking of the ambulance or herself, she was aware of how unclean she felt. Her cast was dirty; she had probably broken half of Dr. Annoying's rules about the cast. Her hair was oily, her mouth still dry despite the water, and her skin was dirty. She was still wearing the oversized hoodie and jeans, and the arm without the cast on it still had an IV strapped to it with tape. She tried to not think about how it would feel when they tore it off.

She was so tired she didn't feel herself falling asleep.

* * *

Bright lights were shining in her eyes. The ceiling was white and smooth. A heart rate monitor beeped calmly beside her. It was steady. The walls were covered in smiling zebras and cartoon lions and butterflies that were the same size as the lions. The air smelled like disinfectant wipes and hand sanitizer. In other words, she was in a hospital.

She had nothing against hospitals, but they made her nervous. They reminded her of sick patients, grave looking families, doctors in scrubs rushing around, and sharp metal tools. Not good stuff.

Last time she had been conscious, she had felt horrible and gross and was throwing up everywhere. She still felt gross—She really needed to take a shower or something—but she no longer felt pain in her head or her stomach. Her cast was still on her arm, but there was no pain coming from it, neither from her head or her stomach. She gathered that the doctors had done their magic thing and healed her.

She had overdosed. How stupid was she to let that happen? She was a child genius, for god's sake. She should have been smarter than that. The headaches had been horrible, yes. But now that she thought about it, they couldn't have been _that_ bad. There were worse things that she could have endured. Yet she still had taken the pills in a panicked attempt to lessen her suffering, having no control over her actions. And that scared her. It was a good thing that whoever found her had found her, or else she probably would have died.

She focused on the facts that she knew. Her name was Cat Gray. She was eight years old but would be nine in a few weeks. She had a food-stealing dog named Taco. That last sentence made her look around, because where was he? The golden dog had saved her, if her memory served her correctly. Had they left him behind?

Cat felt the overwhelming need _do_ something. She didn't want to lie in a bed and mull the event of the last few hours over any longer. She was tired of being tired and knowing nothing. She tore the IV and the heart rate monitor thing off of her arm, wincing when the tape ripped off her skin. The machine cut off mid beep, which was satisfying. She pushed the blankets off of her and swung her legs off of the bed, standing up.

All the blood rushed to her head, and her muscles screamed in pain as she stretched all of her sore uncoordinated limbs. She looked down at her bare feet touching the floor and came to the fact that she was wearing a hospital gown. So that was why the clothing was so uncomfortable. She saw her clothes lying discarded on a bench nearby and started toward it. Doing so, she forgot that she had been unconscious, sedated, and had gone through a healing process in the last few hours. She took her first step and nearly tripped over a chair.

"Ow!" she yelped, holding a hand to her knee. "For the love of god, why is there a chair here?"

She hadn't noticed the chair before, but there were three of them, facing the bed where she had been sleeping. One of them had a black motorcycle jacket draped across of it. Were they watching over her as she slept? That was creepy. And who in the world would want to visit her?

Cat changed out of her hospital gown and into the clothes from the homeless shelter. They were worn and unwashed, but at least it was better than walking around in a giant blue dress. She took a few more practice steps, her arms out to intercept her from hitting the floor if she tripped again. She shook her legs out, balancing on each of her feet unsteadily. She could walk around the room without taking herself out. That had to mean something.

She was ready to walk out the door and face the world, but at the precise moment she reached for the handle the door creaked open. A young man barely out of his teens in blue scrubs, holding an official-looking clipboard, looked down at her. His eyes were wide and his jaw was dropped. She had to admit, she rather liked having this effect on people sometimes.

"You, sir," Cat told him irritatedly, "have immensely bad timing. I was about to conduct my dramatic exit."

"You—you're not supposed to be out of bed!" he stammered. Perhaps he was an intern. He looked extremely out of his league.

"Oh? Then here I am, out of bed and standing right before your very eyes. Amazing, right? I am a miracle in itself."

A woman pushed her way past him. It was the same woman in the truck. The one with brown skin and brown eyes. She gave the young man a few whispered words. He nodded and walked away. The woman's initial confusion at seeing Cat out of her hospital gown and bed was replaced by a warm smile. "Look who's up already!"

"Where's my dog?" she demanded.

Taco, the dog with perfect timing, ran into the room with her answer. He seemed to have had a wash. Now his golden fur was gleaming and trimmed. His collar was gone from his neck. He barked a few times in excitement and nearly bowled her over. Cat grinned happily at the sight of him and rubbed his head.

The woman gave the dog and her a fond look. "That's a clever dog you have there. According to the couple who found you, he was the one who lead them to you. When we were loading you onto that ambulance, he wouldn't leave your side. Didn't even bark, just laid there at your feet."

"Good boy," Cat told him softly, feeling like she was underplaying his role in saving her life by a million times. She was amazed at his loyalty. The only thing she had done for him was given him a few scraps of her food, but he had saved her life. Taco nuzzled her palm. She went to go sit on the bed again, the dog trailing after her toes.

"So you guys un-overdosed me, right? All when I was asleep?"

"That's correct. We gave you sedatives. You were drugged pretty heavily for most of it." The woman followed her, sitting in one of the chairs in front of her bed. "You're one of the youngest patients we've had to do this with."

"Cool, I'm famous." Her face turned serious. "I was feeling really bad before I overdosed. I had really sharp pains in my head. Know what that's all about?"

"Ah, that explains the medicine. You _did_ have a pretty horrible fever. That's why you had headaches more painful than normal fever-induced migraines. We cooled you down. We got all of the nasty stuff out of your system and rewrapped your cast. You should feel a little out of it for the next few days, but after that you'll be fine. But you should never take more than the recommended amount of pills." The woman fixed Cat with a stern expression. "Clear?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I don't really know what I was thinking." It occurred to her that she should say thanks. "Thanks for fixing me and un-overdosing me, but there's no way I can pay for all of the medical bills. I'm broke. Are you going to put me in the system again?"

Cat already knew the answer, but she wanted a confirmation. She had a plan already formulating in her mind. If the doctor said yes, she would give her the slip right then and there. There was no way in hell that she was going back to an orphanage. Life on the streets, homeless and hungry, had been better. Taco jumped on her lap, as if he could sense her internal struggle.

The woman shook her head. "No, you're not."

"Huh?"

"I called the number you gave me in the ambulance. Turns out, your folks have been searching for you. They came as fast as they could when they got the call. A red haired woman who called herself Natalie and two blond men. You don't need to worry about paying for your medical bills. They did it for you."

Natasha, Clint, Steve...they had come for her? Why? The chairs around her bed made sense.

"You look stunned," the doctor said.

"Just a little surprised. Where are they?"

She looked around. "I don't know. Maybe they—"

At which point Natasha walked into the room. Did everyone just have perfect timing today? Cat's jaw slackened, her eyes taking in the red haired woman's appearance. She had bag under her eyes. Her face was free of injuries that had been there the last time she had seen her. She looked tired, like she hadn't slept. She wore loose sweatpants and a plain white shirt and held a Starbucks drink, looking as un-Natasha as one could ever get.

"Speak of the devil," the doctor said. "Look, Cat's awake!"

Nat, obviously, had already figured that out. Her eyes widened and her grip tightened on the Starbucks cup. Her whole body went from a casual stance to an alert one. Her eye scanned Cat in a way that showed she was analyzing her appearance just as Cat had done to her a few seconds prior.

Cat smiled weakly and waved the fingers on her non injured hand at her. "Hi."

Natasha blinked, her mouth opening and closing. It was one of the few times that Cat had seen her speechless. She wondered what it meant.

The doctor stood up. "I'll give you two a few minutes alone."

"So," Cat said awkwardly, once the doctor had vacated the room. "How have you been?"

Wrong thing to say.

"How I've _been_?" Her cold green eyes flicked to Cat sharply and narrowed. "You ran away by literally jumping out the window, spent a week on the streets where you could have died, and then shoved half a bottle of pills down your throat. We practically ransacked New York trying to find you." Slight anger and worry bled into her tone, which surprised her, as Natasha never liked displaying much emotion. "So about how I've been...bad doesn't cover it."

Cat flinched. "Sorry." The mere apology didn't seem to be enough, but she didn't know what else to say.

Natasha exhaled heavily. Now that the pent-up anger she'd been holding had been released, she shifted into her usual cool expression. "You should be." She moved closer to Cat, hesitating before she took a seat in one of the vacated chairs. "How do you feel?" She had suddenly adopted a soft voice that was similar to someone talking to a scared animal. Cat didn't like it, it didn't feel like the Natasha that she knew.

"Fine," she said deliberately, eyeing Nat to make sure she wouldn't explode at her again. "A little tired. I don't feel like dying, which is a plus. Are you going to drink that?" Cat nodded at the cup.

Wordlessly, Natasha handed her the Starbucks. The anger seemed to be over, because there were no traces of anger in her face. Or maybe that was just Nat being Nat. Cat took the straw out and the cap and drank the delicious caffeinated liquid straight from the cup. She downed half the cup before seeing that Natasha was looking at her intently. Her arm stretched out. Cat stilled, hands frozen on her cup. But all she did was stroke Taco gently. The dog licked her hand.

"What's her name?"

"Taco." Cat gaped. "Wait. Taco is a _her_?"

"Yes. You didn't know that?"

"No!" She stared at her dog in disbelief, trying to come to terms that Taco had been her dog for a few days and she had been referring to her as _he_ for the whole time. How did she not notice that? Some genius she was.

Natasha rubbed Taco's ears. The dog gazed at her with brown eyes. "Taco is a good name."

"Thanks." Cat looked around the room as if she could catch Clint or Steve hiding behind one of the jungle animals on the walls. "Where are Clint and Steve?"

"Clint had to go home, and Steve had to go to work."

She tilted her head. "And you're... _not_ going to work?"

"Work can wait for now."

The words made her feel all fidgety and uncomfortable. "Um, the doctor said you came as soon as she called. So, thanks." Cat toyed with the strings of her hoodie. "I suppose because you're here, you're not going to put me back in the system."

"Of course not," Nat said, so vehemently that Cat started. "Is that why you ran away?"

That was like three strikes to her. First the call from the doctor, then the concern, and finally the confirmation that made the conclusion true. The conclusion that she really should have came to much earlier. She felt her face getting hot. She was an idiot. Had she misinterpreted the signs that badly? The running away idea had _seemed_ like a great idea at the time, but now she just felt like it was proof that she had been reckless and quick to make assumptions. She really didn't want to know what Natasha thought of her.

"Yeah," she admitted quietly. "It was stupid."

"Running away was stupid. But you're not."

"Where did you get that one?" Cat asked sarcastically. "Tumblr?" Then she sobered up, reminding herself that this was a serious moment. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine. Even if I had gotten it from tumblr, it doesn't make it any less true." Natasha put a light hand on Cat's wrist. Despite that it was barely more than a slight graze, it made her stiffen. "Why did you I was going to put you back in the system?"

"You were kinda pissed that Clint and I ruined your living room."

"That doesn't mean I was going to put kick you out of the house."

"Other foster families do," she said, as if that explained everything.

Natasha tilted her chin up, forcing Cat to look into her eyes. Cat felt so stiff she was like a board. No one had ever talked to her like she meant something, other than her parents who she could barely remember. She couldn't remember the last time someone told her that she wasn't a mistake. Truthfully, anything that had to do with mushy stuff, like hugs or crying, made her uncomfortable. She usually deflected emotional people with quips, but she clearly couldn't do that with Nat.

"Cat, did you honestly think I would make you leave?"

Cat thought about her answer. Honestly, she did think that Natasha was going to do that. All of her stays at foster families were temporary. And she had been a pain for Natasha, always hyper with coffee and always insulting everyone around her and getting into trouble. Foster parents couldn't handle all of that. Except Natasha wasn't just a foster parent, she was a relative. Seeing circles under Nat's eyes and the weariness etched on her face, she didn't think so anymore. If the woman hadn't cared about her, at least a little bit, then why would she have spent a week trying to find her? Even though logic overpowered Cat's fixed mindset, there was still a trace of doubt.

Taco barked suddenly in her lap, snapping her out of her thoughts. Natasha was still waiting for her answer. She wasn't sure she was able to put all of her thinking into words, so she just said, "I used to. Not anymore."

"Good," the woman said, leaning back like that matter was all fixed. "So it's settled. I won't kick you out, and you won't recklessly run away. Deal?"

"It's a deal." It felt silly, but Cat gave her a crooked smile and shook Nat's hand. She had to say the question on her mind. "So...we're cool, then? All of this?" She waved her hand around the hospital room.

Nat scrutinized her, and Cat had a moment of panic in where she thought that Natasha was just going to say no. Instead, she shrugged. "Yeah, we're cool."

"Cool."

* * *

 **You know the drill. Review. Review more. Disappointment when you realize that the author is a jerk and too lazy to update. Anguish when you realize author is dead. That got dark quickly. Ignore me, I'm tired.**

 **PS I usually respond to reviews via PMs, so check that. If I don't, that means I was too lazy so sorry in advance.**


	16. Chapter 16: Mr Pirate Man

What the doctor neglected to mention was that Cat had to stay at the hospital for an entire _four days_ after that. Dr. Matthews, the woman in the ambulance, had told her it was to make sure that nothing else was wrong with her.

Cat disagreed strongly. "Why? You already got the bad stuff out of me."

"Hospital policy," Dr. Matthews responded, although she did smile apologetically. "Sorry."

"But I'm _fine_. The worst thing that could happen to me in this place is that I get bored to death."

The oh-so-sympathetic doctor laughed it off. "You'll be _fine_."

The only good thing that came out of it was Clint and Steve, who visited separately. Steve was glad she was okay, making her promise to not run away and not even giving her a speech. He refused to answer all of her persistent questions about Captain America. Clint brought her laptop in and a box of pizza, which automatically made him the most wonderful person to ever exist in her book. He was also not answering her questions, claiming that he deserved not to be interrogated because he had brought her pizza. She couldn't argue with that. Natasha stayed for a while, and it was nice because there was no more touching and talking about uncomfortable subjects, just their usual back-and-forth banter. But then she had to leave for her work and Cat was alone in her hospital room.

It was Day Two in the hospital room, and it was so boring. So, so, so, so boring.

Cat could only watch so much Youtube before she was completely, absolutely bored out of her mind. She only had the animals on the walls for company, and when she talked to them they never responded, only looking at her with blank unseeing eyes. After a lot of arguing and persuading, she was allowed to wear her normal clothes. Thank whatever deity was up there. Natasha brought her clothes in instead of the ones from the homeless shelter. Cat had gotten attached to the hoodie, though, so they took it back to be washed. She had exchanged her hospital gown for leggings and a shirt with an eagle logo on it.

"I'm officially bored," Cat announced to the walls.

She shoved her blankets to the side and slid off of her bed, the cool air hitting her as she left the warmth of her blankets. She retrieved Taco's leash from her bedside and beckoned the dog with a hand. Taco lifted his golden head from where he was lapping up water, his muzzle dripping with water.

 _Her_ , she corrected herself. Taco was a _her_ now.

"C'mon, Taco! We're going for a walk."

The dog gazed at her with doubtful Bambi eyes, not coming to Cat's waiting hand, as if saying, _You shouldn't be doing that_.

"Oh, so you have opinions now?" Cat groaned. "We're just getting a little fresh air. And exercise. Last time I checked, exercise is good, right?"

The opinionated dog looked at her reluctantly, still not getting up. She seemed extremely content with her spot on the floor. Cat sighed and unscrewed the jar of dog treats beside her bed. The day before, Natasha had gone for a quick shopping trip to a pet shop, picking up a leash, bowls, chew toys, and dog treats for the dog. Taco had a new leather collar, this time labeled with the name. Cat waved the dog treat at Taco, and the dog sprang up from her spot on the floor.

Taco ate up the dog treat eagerly, wagging her tail for more. She was fully aware that Cat was buying her affections with dog treats, and she was fine with that.

"Actually, we're going to have to work on the dog treat thing," Cat told Taco. "You can't just blindly trust any stranger who gives you dog treats, okay?"

Taco barked and licked Cat's hand, which was not at all reassuring.

She tired to clip Taco's leash to her collar, but the dog was not having it. She darted away from Cat as soon as she tried to get the leash on the stubborn dog. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she gave up.

"You don't like the leash," Cat said exasperatedly. She threw the leash onto her bed. "Fine, then. Don't blame me if you dart away and get run over by a car."

Taco seemed to nod her head in agreement, as if the dog could even understand her.

"Don't look so excited. Getting run over by a car is no happy experience." Cat turned away and started rummaging around in the dresser for pens and paper. She found a thick Sharpie but no paper. So she tore one of the pages from her medical report and flipped it to the back. Hey, she had to make do with what she had. "Gotta leave a note in case they come in," Cat told the anticipating dog waiting at her feet. She scribbled a quick note in her barely legible handwriting: _Going 4 a walk. Be back soon_.

"That should do it."

She opened the door and watched the hallway in case there were roaming nurses and doctors. Feeling like she was a character in a spy movie, she whispered, "All clear," and gestured for Taco to follow her into the hallway.

* * *

Cat's near perfect memory recalled the route from the children's hospital to the same park she had gone to with Steve. It was a bit longer by foot, but she was glad for the walk. She felt sluggish in the musty hospital room, so it was a nice change to be able to breath fresh air and feel the breeze on her face. Taco padded by her side willingly. Cat was so grateful for that dog.

When they made it to the playground, she let Taco run around loose and headed for the swings. The playground was chock full of kids and their families, so there was a line for the swings. Only, there wasn't any sort of time limit on them, and often the children got into arguments about how long the other could swing. Cat waited at the back impatiently. She swung clumsily with her cast, but it was doable.

"It's my turn."

The girl speaking had dull red hair and a petulant expression on her face. She was a year or so younger than Cat. She didn't want a repeat of what happened the last time she had gotten into a disagreement with someone at this very park. Getting into another fight would not be smart. She shrugged and jumped off of the swing she was on.

Taco was barking at another person's dog. A few kids were petting her, laughing. The dog was soaking up all the attention. Cat let her, praying that she wouldn't run off. She was feel awfully tired. She wasn't sure if it was the aftereffects of the drugs they gave her to have more peaceful sleep, or that she wasn't used to spending so much time outdoor thanks to the time in the hospital.

She sat down on a bench, trying to fight the urge to shut her eyes and drift asleep.

Someone sat down on the bench next to her. Cat looked at the person. It was a dark-skinned man, who had thin purplish veins protruding from an eyepatch on his left eye. He looked extremely out of place wearing a dark trench coat and a forbidding expression next to all the kids yelling and screaming joyously in the park. The man noticed her attention on his face, so he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Something on my face?"

"Yeah," Cat said, feeling bold. "The eyepatch."

"Don't you know it's rude to make fun of an adult's appearance?"

She doubted that the man was really this sensitive about his appearance. "I wasn't making fun. It was just a statement. And you were the one asking in the first place."

"It's a rhetorical question, girl."

She tilted her head at him. "What's a red-oracle question?"

The pirate man grunted in annoyance. "A question that's not supposed to be answered."

"So why do you ask it?"

"Because—" He stopped mid-sentence. "I'm not having this conversation with a six-year-old."

She crossed her arms. "FYI, I'm eight. And supposedly a child genius."

His face didn't change from being bored. He sounded like he couldn't be bothered to know that she was a child genius. "Good to know."

It was kind of refreshing. "And I like coffee," she added, just to try and provoke a reaction out of him.

He made an unintelligible noise that could have been either a scoff or a _hmm_.

Somewhere in the mess that she called a mind, Cat remembered that she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. Why, she didn't know. To prevent kids from inhaling drugs or something. She supposed that piece of advice applied to men with eyepatches and trench coats as well. "Can I ask you a question? Besides this one."

"You ask a lot of questions."

"What's your name?"

He looked at her. His one eye was dark brown and mean looking. He didn't look mean, though. He was kind of nice and didn't treat her like most adults did. "Why do you want to know, Cat?"

"Because I can't to talk to strangers. But if you tell me your name, you're not a stranger anymore and I can talk to you." Something that he said struck her as odd. "Wait, you know my name? How do you know my name? You're not a creepy stalker, are you?"

"I am not a creepy stalker," he said. "Your mother and I are colleagues."

"My _mother_?" Cat laughed. In the back of her head, she noticed that he dodged the question about his name. "You must be messed up in the head, pirate man. I don't have a mother. She died like forever ago."

His forehead creased, not expecting that. Cat was both triumphant that she had his full attention now and weirded out that he was so invested. "Who do you live with, then?"

Cat reassessed the man in her head quickly. His intent was odd. He came and sat on the bench next to her. Based on her knowledge, people didn't usually sit next to a child they didn't know. Then instead of asking where her parents were and all, he decided to find out where she lived. Not to mention, the potential of him being a creepy stalker were higher and higher. Seriously— he was a colleague of her dead mother's? And he just happened to know her name? Not to mention, he had an eyepatch, which increased the creepy factor by at least ten times.

"Why do you want to know, pirate man?" She mimicked his tone.

"Don't call me pirate man, Cat."

"Then let's trade answers. Tell me your name and I'll tell you who I live with. I don't even know why you want to know, but whatever."

He sighed and rubbed his temples in an _I can't believe I'm making a deal with an eight-year-old_ kind of way but still agreed. "Fine. You go first."

"Nuh-uh! I asked first."

"My name is Andrew Lockton," the pirate man said. "Now answer my question."

"And I live in an underground lair for evil villains with the president and Angelina Jolie," Cat said with an excellent poker face.

"Tell me the truth."

"Then _you_ tell me the truth. There's no way that your name is Andrew Lockton."

"I am telling the truth."

"No, you aren't. I can tell."

A mix of emotions passed his eyepatch-clad face, most of them irritation, but she thought she could see a little bit of interest in there as well. "Nick. Fury. There's my name. Now tell me, who are you living with?"

The man was better than most liars, but that time she could tell that this time the pirate man wasn't lying. She didn't know how she did pick out a liar from an honest person. It was a useful ability, but it just came to her naturally. Really, it was more if a matter of instinct and wit. Cat could see the truth outlined in every crease in his face. Either that or he was a really good liar. She'd prefer the former.

"With my distant aunt. She's not married, so no uncle. I'm not even sure I'd want an uncle, because my last one was an alcoholic jerk. And that's the whole, complete truth." Cat didn't let the pirate man say what he was going to say when he opened his mouth. "Does that mean you and Natasha are colleagues? And you thought Natasha was my mother? How? We don't even look alike."

"This changes a lot of things," the pirate man muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. You said that Natasha Romanoff is your distant aunt?"

"Yeah, I didn't even know she existed until like a month ago. I was still in the system. Are you guys friends? Oh, wait, no. You said you were colleagues. Nevermind, disregard that last text."

"This is a verbal conversation."

"Did I say text? I meant...question. Sorry, that's my ADHD. I keep on forgetting to take my meds. Wait, do I even have meds anymore, or was that last year? Why am I talking so much? It must be the drugs they gave me at the hospital," she said, more to herself than the pirate man. All of the sudden, her words caught up to her and she blanched. God, she hated drugs. Even mild, they made her ADHD act up in weird ways and made her talk more than she should have.

The pirate man looked unsure of what to say to that.

"Oh, duh. You don't know what hospital I'm talking about. You can disregard that statement as well. Are you stunned? You look sort of stunned." Cat waved a hand in front of his face. "What were you saying before again?"

"I can't really imagine Romanoff as a parent," the pirate man mused.

"Huh." Cat thought to herself. "Me neither. That would be terrifying. I don't really see her as a parent, y'know? More like...a friend with parent-like qualities." She clamped a hand over her mouth. "That sounded cheesy. Please tell me I didn't say that. Control, alt, delete. Control, alt, delete."

The pirate man shook his head like a cow trying to get rid of flies. "Let's get back on topic."

"What topic was that, again? There wasn't really a topic, right? You just sat here for no reason and then I started talking to you."

"Do you know the names Clint Barton and Steve Rogers?"

The pieces were stirring in her head, not quite connected yet. Clint and Steve? As in, Natasha's friends? Cat nodded slowly.

That was the turning point in their conversation. Nick Fury sat up, looking more official and more like the pirate man that she imagined him as. "Cat, I'm going to tell you something very confidential, and I need your confirmation that you will not tell anyone about this. Aside from the people I give you permission to tell, of course."

"Is it serious?"

"Extremely."

 _Sure! I just met you, but by all means, tell me something that may change the orbit of the universe._ She nodded. "Okay."

"See, I'm the Director of an agency called SHIELD."

Cat blanked. "You're a movie director?"

"No, I'm in charge of an agency. The person who calls the shots, makes important decisions, et cetera. It stands for the Strategic Hazard Intervention Espionage Logistics Directorate."

"The Strategy Homeless International...what?"

"You know what, forget it. It's just SHIELD. And that's not the important part you need to know." He was speaking slowly, like that might take away some of the pressure that he was about to dump on her. "Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and Steve Rogers also work for SHIELD. They're better known as the Avengers."

* * *

Cat's jaw dropped. The puzzle pieces shifted together and the picture became clearer. Her first thought was that he was lying. But everything suddenly made _so_ much sense. She immediately thought back to every conversation, interaction, and observation she'd ever had about Natasha, Clint, and Steve.

Fury contemplated her thoughtfully, looking like this was exactly what he had been expecting.

There was awkward silence for at least ten seconds. (And by the way, ten seconds was a long time. Just count it out. One, two, three...see, that's already really long.) And then Cat ruined the moment by shouting:

"I _knew_ it!"

A few heads near them turned toward to look at Cat curiously. But they were out of earshot so they stopped caring after a moment or two.

The pirate man didn't strike her as someone who was impressed or surprised easily, but his eyebrows did raise at that. Very high. "You...you did?"

"Duh!" she said more loudly than necessary, relieved that she wasn't going crazy with all her observations and bubbling with questions. "I knew Steve was obviously Captain America because he can't lie to save his own life. And I didn't know that Natasha and Clint were assassins but now I feel so stupid because it's so obvious. Natasha's all scary and cold to everyone so she's Black Widow, and Clint won a penguin for me in Six Flags!"

Fury's eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead. "Hawkeye won you stuffed animals at an amusement park?"

"Yeah! Now his freakishly good aim makes sense. I even found a gun in Natasha's room once, you know? And Steve draws. Did you know Captain America can draw? Like, really well? He even colors in the lines all neatly, like anyone cares." Cat paused for breath. "This is so crazy. I've met the Avengers. I'm such a _moron_."

Never in her life had she sounded so idiotic, but excuse her, because she just found out that she had been living with the frickin Avengers. And she never even bothered to find the whole truth(aside from Steve, but he didn't count).

Fury was watching her with a mildly bored expression. "Are you nearly done?"

"Not even nearly, Mr. Pirate Man. I have so many questions. Like, what's SHIELD? I mean, what do you guys do? Are you guys like the FBI? And you said that Natasha, Steve, and Clint also work for SHIELD? Does that mean you're their boss? Can you order them around? And if I become your boss, does that mean I can order you to order them around? And how come you have an eyepatch? And why are peppermint lattes only revived during Christmastime?"

Fury looked around. Cat's increasing volume had attracted more attention. "How about we go to your house, and I can explain it all over there?"

"Not house, dummy," she corrected. "Hospital. I think I told you that."

"Don't call me dummy, or else you'll regret it. And no more 'pirate man' or 'Mr. Pirate Man'. I get that enough from Ironman," he warned dangerously. "Remember, I know my way around guns and I could severely maim you."

"That's really creepy, Mr. Pirate Man," Cat said brightly. "But I have a rep of pissing off adults and I'd hate to disappoint." She got up from the bench and offered Fury a hand. "Are we going or do you want to sit here all day?"

Fury ignored her hand. "I can't believe I'm taking orders from a kindergartener."

"Kindergarteners are for five-year-olds, Mr. Pirate Man. Even I know that, and I'm eight. What are you, like, eighty?"

"You're lucky I have morals against killing innocent kids, no matter how pesky they are," he said, although his one good eye shone murderously. "Or else you'd have been dead three times over ten minutes ago."

"'Preciate it." Cat shot a dimpled smile at him.

"But by all means, let's go to the hospital." He sighed tiredly. "After all, it's not like I have an agency to run or anything."


	17. Chapter 17: Frozen Yogurt

Natasha had been through a rough week.

She spent most of it searching for Cat and keeping her wild emotions at bay while she was at it. Then when she had found the girl, she'd been suffering from an overdose of headache medicine and a hot fever, while also barely functioning with a worn-out cast and more than a few injuries. Natasha could handle beating up creepy aliens and narcissistic gods, but this was something she couldn't control.

Cat was unpredictable and difficult to figure out. The girl had a genius IQ and a mouth that was annoying enough to compare to a certain billionaire playboy philanthropist. But she also had a dark past, scars, and more issues than the girl would like to admit. She was sarcastic one moment, fragile the next. She had walls like Natasha did. They were well built from hurt and pain and experience. Natasha had a job built off of breaking through those types of people's walls, but she couldn't with Cat.

What made it so hard was that Cat was a child, and the others were adults. She was someone who _knew_ people. She knew how to read them, how to manipulate them, how to think like them. Somewhat like Natasha, actually. She used her childish innocence to fake people. She made them think that she was normal. Her act was so convincing that even Natasha had to believe that some of it was real. And maybe it was. She was seeing more of her in Cat every day that passed. That scared her, just a tiny bit. It was a tiny constant gnawing fear at the back of her mind. She didn't wish her lifestyle on anyone. Although Cat's childhood was very different than hers had been, she knew that they had more in common than she had initially thought.

And in that mess of a life, Natasha had grown to be fond of Cat. It was dangerous, that emotion. She was raised to not have feelings. She had changed after her time in SHIELD, but instead of being a weapon of destruction she was now a spy. Clint, Steve, and the rest of the Avengers had changed her, but she still knew that being compromised had its risks. She knew those risks when she took in Cat. Phil had, as well. Yet she still had followed his advice.

When Natasha got the phone call, she was reminded about how many different ways her connection to Cat could spiral.

"What do you mean, she's _missing_?" Natasha balanced her phone on her shoulder as she kneed a masked man in the chest and knocked him out.

The nurse's voice wavered from its already frantic pitch. " _She's gone from her room. I've checked the bed and everywhere. There's a note._ " There were fumbling noises from the nurse's side of the line. " _It says 'Going for a walk. Be back soon.'_ "

That was exactly the sort of thing Cat would do. The moment she was "fine", the girl would pull another one on her, making everyone that cared about her go crazy. Cat wasn't invincible. Natasha closed her eyes and stifled a groan. Because of that, she didn't see the fist coming, and another baddie's hand flew a millimeter over her nose. The phone clattered to the ground. The nurse's voice said " _Are you still there, Ms. Rushman?_ " faintly.

She punched the last baddie's face in, his limp body falling to the ground, and picked the phone up. She was glad to see it didn't have any cracks. "Yes, I am. You're telling me that you didn't have anyone watching over that hall? You let an unsupervised girl with her dog just walk out of there. How could something like that happen?"

" _She asked for privacy. We can't keep an eye on every single patient in this hospital, Ms. Rushman. We have lots of them._ "

The idiocy in that nearly sent her over the edge. Nearly. She took a deep breath. "When did you find this out, exactly?"

" _About five minutes ago_."

"So she could have been gone for _hours_?"

" _...Yes_."

Natasha hung up. Screw the assignment. She touched a finger to her comm link. "Hawkeye, you copy?"

" _What's up, Nat?"_

"We agreed to use our aliases for this," she reprimanded him. "Cat has apparently escaped from the hospital. You can handle this mission by yourself, can't you?"

" _Are you kidding? Hasn't she gone through enough horrible things in this week already?_ " Clint whisper-yelled. " _Yeah, I can handle the mission._ "

"Great."

" _And, Nat,"_ he said, " _don't murder her._ "

She snorted. "No promises."

* * *

"Her name is Taco," Cat told the pirate man on the way to her hospital room. They had taken Fury's _really nice_ car on their way back from the park, even though he kept on complaining about her dog shedding fur on his precious leather seats. She had avoided awkward conversation by disagreeing with everything that Fury said and saying things that would annoy him. Better that than silence. "I first thought she was a boy."

"She's an absolute menace."

Cat screwed up her face. "She is not. She's wonderful."

A panicked nurse tripped over Cat as she ran, a phone loose in her hand. Her papers spilled onto the floor. She cursed violently and knelt down to pick them up. Cat joined her on the floor to help, feeling a little bad because she was partial to blame for the nurse's fall. She gathered a few together and handed them to the nurse, who accepted them gratefully.

The nurse looked at Cat and her eyes widened in fury(haha, pun totally intended) and astonishment. "You!"

"No, it's _thank_ you," Cat corrected. "But you're welcome anyway."

"I was just on the phone with your aunt!" Cat winced at that. "You're not allowed to leave your hospital room! Did you know that? I've been looking all over the place for you, and it turns out that you've been perfectly fine all along!"

"I don't see the issue. Cat just wanted to take a walk around the hospital." Fury elbowed his way into the conversation(even though no one asked him to). "We were just heading back to her room."

"She's not allowed _out_ of her room unsupervised." The nurse looked him and his eyepatch over with a critical eye. "And who are you supposed to be? Captain Jack Sparrow?"

Cat nearly doubled over in laughter. "Jack Sparrow! That's a good one."

Fury glared with his one eye. "I'm the girl's uncle."

Cat swallowed her laughter, looking startled. "Not related uncle, duh. But he's a friend of a friend of my aunt's, and we're just so close that he might as well be my _real_ uncle." Cat punched him in the shoulder jokingly but grimaced when her punch thudded against rock. Seriously, this man was way more buff than he looked underneath that trench coat. "Right, Uncle Nicky?"

"Right," Fury said through gritted teeth. "That's absolutely right."

"Okay," the nurse said suspiciously, straightening up with her papers all in order. "Are you on the visiting list?"

"I have to be on a dam— darned visiting list to see my favorite…" Fury faltered, unsure of what to call her. "...person in the entire world?" He tried a fond smile, but it ended up coming out incredibly forced. Cat could see the murdering theories going on in his head.

"Way to sound like an old grandpa, Pirate Man," she said without moving her mouth, voice too low for the nurse to hear.

"Yes, you do."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?" Cat repressed a laugh with difficulty as Fury's fingers clenched into fists. "No sense in going back. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way back to Cat's room." He pushed past her. Cat followed with a big smirk.

After they settled in her room, Fury sitting down in one of the folding chairs and Cat sitting cross legged on her bed with Taco curling up in her lap, she pressed him for answers. He started talking. Cat listened, not asking questions or talking endlessly for once.

The Natasha Romanoff he described wasn't much different than the Nat she knew. Cat was a little hurt that Nat hadn't told her about her identity, but hey. They both had their secrets. Plus, it wouldn't be a secret identity if she told everyone. She was mostly trying to come to terms that Black Widow and Nat were one and the same. She should have figured it out. They both had red hair, were frightening, and guns.

The pirate man was mid-sentence when there was a commotion outside in the hall. They both paused to look at the door to the hospital room when it suddenly swung open. To Cat's amazement, it was Natasha Romanoff standing there, still in the same leather catsuit she'd seen her in the other day. There were weapons holstered on her person and she had a formidable look on her face. Brief surprise flashed across her regal features when she saw that the room was occupied.

"You're an Avenger!" Cat blurted randomly. She _swore_ she didn't mean to. "And also a SHIELD agent!"

Fury groaned. "I thought I told you not to tell anyone I didn't tell you to tell!"

"Sorry! In my defense, she was going to find out anyway, what with your eyepatch-y self being here and everything. So I kind of did you a favor." She spoke to Nat. "By the way, you have the worst timing."

"Do I?" Natasha's eyebrow creased. "Obviously I've missed something. Important."

That was putting it mildly. "I've seen you wear that outfit," Cat said to break the tension. "I forgot to ask you about it."

Fury addressed her coolly. "Romanoff. I thought you had a mission."

"My partner's taking care of it." Nat's eyes were fixed on Cat. "So, Cat knows."

"Yep," she answered for him, popping the last letter. "The pirate man told me _everything_."

"The pirate man?"

"I've been trying to stop her," the pirate man said forlornly.

"You told her _everything_?"

"Not everything, Romanoff. Don't look at me like that. You knew what the risks were when you took this girl in. Honestly, I'm a little hurt that you didn't tell me beforehand. Surely you knew that it was inevitable that I'd find out eventually."

"How did you find out about her?"

"It doesn't matter. You know I have my sources." Fury leaned back in his chair. "You know what does matter? You've gotten attached. Compromised. Are you sure you can juggle having to take care of a minor, being an Avenger, and going on your SHIELD missions?"

"You know better than to underestimate me, Fury."

"I know your lengths. If this keeps up and your success percentage rate starts to go down, which it will, the decision's up to you. Give up one thing or the other. You can't have both. I know that firsthand, and Coulson does too."

"Who's Coulson?" Cat asked, but as usual, no one paid attention to her.

"Coulson told you," Natasha said flatly.

Fury shrugged. "As I said, it doesn't matter."

"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Cat asked.

"Yes, that reminds me," Natasha gave her a calculating stare, and Cat instantly regretted speaking up. "I didn't come here for Fury. In fact, I'm going to pretend that you aren't here." Fury raised an eyebrow but made no comment. "Let's talk about how the nurse on the phone told me that you went outside and left—" She grabbed the note that Cat had scribbled on. "—this."

Cue to internal dramaticized groan. "Sounds about…right," she mumbled awkwardly.

Thankfully she was saved from being interrogated by a scary spy-slash-assassin, because at that moment Steve burst through the door. He looked like he had jumped on his motorcycle and rushed to the hospital as fast as he could. His hair was all sticking out on one side, he was wearing grass-stained jeans and his usual white shirt(he had like fifty of those). His breaths came in faint huffs.

"I came as fast as I could," he told Natasha. "Clint rang me up. Did I miss anything?" Only then did he look at the scene before him. His jaw slackened the slightest bit when he saw Cat, limbs intact and in one piece, and the pirate man, chilling in a chair and looking bored as hell. "Cat? Director?" He looked back at Natasha. "Did I miss the memo? What's happened?"

"Cat made a friend," Natasha said flatly.

Cat threw her hands in the air. "I don't get why everyone's so jumpy. I just wanted some fresh air. I even left a note."

"Oh, because leaving a _note_ makes it so much better!" Natasha jumped in sarcastically.

"Yes, it does! You know how hot it is in here all the time? And then I met the pirate man at the park, and then we talked about you guys being the Avengers and stuff, and then we came back in the car, and then I bumped into a nurse, and then Natasha came, and then _everyone_ came."

Which of course caused a bombardment of questions.

"How much do you know about us?"

"You went to the park? That's four miles away!"

"You shouldn't talk to strangers!"

(That last one was Steve, duh.)

"Fury's not a stranger. He told me his name. Also, he's my honorary uncle now."

"What?"

The pirate man was shaking his head fast. "I had no say in this."

"Yes, you did! You told the nurse person!"

"Can we get back on the topic?" Steve asked tiredly. "Cat, you're okay?"

"Still in one piece." She spread out her fingers, to show him she still had all of them.

"Wonderful." Steve gave Fury a tight smile. It had no warmth in it. "Director, I think we should discuss this at greater length later."

"Agreed," the pirate man said easily, getting out of his chair. "Cat, it's been a pleasure to meet you. Not really. Romanoff, Rogers, I'll see you two tomorrow." He raised a hand in farewell and quickly scooted out of the room. Cat watched his retreating form bitterly. Why did he get a _Get out of jail free_ card?

"I'm sorry," she said, shocking herself. She was forcing her words and face to sound and look sincere. Because she was regretful, but she wasn't good at expressing it. Apologies did not come naturally to her. At all. Getting the words out were like trying to swallow rocks.

"It's fine," Steve said. If Cat wasn't standing right in front of him and saw the honesty in his face, she wouldn't have believed him. But that was part of being Captain America, she guessed. She couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Really," she insisted. "I mean it."

"I know you do, Cat."

Natasha messed with her golden strands. "Does that mean you're going to stop...doing whatever it is you do to worry us all to death?"

Cat bit the edge of her lip, supremely uncomfortable with the post-interrogation. "Yes."

"Dr. Matthews said that you were free to go back with us," Natasha continued. "We could go now if you want."

"Can we get frozen yogurt too?" Cat asked eagerly.

"No," Steve said quickly, while Nat looked like she was on the brink of agreeing. "You get ten times more hyper every time you eat that. Consider it a punishment for your unjust and terrible crimes."

"I only wanted some fresh air."

"Not that. Throwing yourself out a window and landing yourself in the hospital for the second time in a week."

"Well, when you say it like _that_ …"

"And watching you with the toppings personally makes me sick," Natasha added.

Cat used her puppy dog eyes.

Nat whacked her lightly. "Stop that."

"What? Breathing?" She made them even more doe-like and pitiful.

"Fine, let's get frozen yogurt," said Natasha with a smile. "Steve and I can get them, and you can watch us eat it."

"Ahh." Cat pretended to fall dead. "Low blow, Romanoff."

"C'mon. Get your things and we can go."

"You just want frozen yogurt," Steve grumbled to her.


	18. Chapter 18: Orange Tinted Sunglasses

**NAT**

"What does Thor's hammer feel like?"

"Really heavy."

"What's Tony Stark like?"

"He's rich, annoying, and arrogant."

"Is the Hulk really that big as he is on the news?"

"Bigger."

"Can I tell Steve 'I told you so'?"

"Please do."

"Can I keep calling Fury Mr. Pirate Man?"

"Absolutely not."

"What about Jack Sparrow?"

"Refer to my previous answer."

"Eyepatch?"

"No pirate related nicknames."

Those were some of the questions Cat had for Natasha after the Fury episode. Natasha was glad that she had discovered the news somehow, but angry that she hadn't been in control of it. Fury and her had their discussion, involving many knives, a lot of yelling, and somehow a violently thrown spatula. It was ultimately decided that she would keep on being an Avenger, a part time SHIELD agent(but her missions would less frequent than before), and take care of Cat.

Cat had taken the news extremely well. Natasha was glad she wasn't terrified of living in the same house as an assassin, and more so that nothing between them had changed. She had ended up badgering Natasha with a lot of questions, none that were actually relevant and a few that were straight up random.

"Does Clint sing in the shower?"

"Can Steve play the ukulele?"

"How much do you get paid?"

And the last, terrifying one—

"When can I become an Avenger?"

Steve tried to talk her out of it, but she had her mind set and was stubborn about it. Natasha didn't think it was a bad idea. She was debating on teaching her how to fight. It could come in handy if she got mugged again. (Cat told them about her scarring experience with the muggers when she was on the streets. Seriously, was there anything that _didn't_ happen while she ran away?) Nat didn't want that to happen again, and she didn't want Cat to be vulnerable. But Steve said that she could easily get hurt, she had to focus on her life, and other things. But Cat had manipulation and the puppy dog eyes on her side. Nat wouldn't admit it outright, but the girl was _very_ persuasive with her words.

Steve still wouldn't let up. And he refused to let Natasha call him a mother hen.

* * *

 **CAT**

"You seem weirdly happy this morning," she commented to Natasha on the third morning since she had escaped from the prison, otherwise known as the hospital.

The red haired woman in question tried to force her features into neutrality with zero success. "Hmm, do I?" she said innocently.

"Yes." Cat said, deeply distrustful. "You're not planning a murder, are you?"

Natasha actually laughed, which startled Cat. She _never_ showed this much joy in the morning. She would wake up for her runs at early times, but it was clear by the amount of coffee she consumed and the dark circles under her eyes that Nat was not, by any means, a morning person. Usually after her "refreshing" runs—but at least now Cat understood why she had to maintain in good shape— Natasha occupied what Cat called her "dead-inside" resting face. That morning, her face was harboring the shadow of a smirk, and her eyes were bright and lively.

"Okay then," Cat muttered, a little creeped out.

She reached for Natasha's Starbucks coffee cup, hoping that Nat's good mood would change the coffee ban rule. But as quick as a flash, the woman stole the cup from Cat's grasp.

"Nice try."

"This is cruel and unusual punishment. I'm recovering from a fever and an overdose, I have to take care of a dog, and I still have to go to _school_. And on top of that, I can't have coffee."

Nat drained her cup smugly. "Yep."

"Why can't you just ground me or something?"

"Where your bed, laptop, and an open window are?" Natasha asked skeptically. "I think this is a better alternative."

"If you think 'better' means 'horrible' and 'alternative' means 'torture'." Cat slammed her head against the table multiple times.

"Careful," was all that Natasha said. "If you dent my table, I'll murder you."

"Ooh, I'm scared now," Cat said scornfully. She was about to do it one more time, just to spite her, but then halted midway. "Oh, wait. I forgot about the assassin thing. I plead forgiveness. Please don't kill me in my sleep." She slumped down in her seat. Nat hid a smirk behind her cup.

She had gone two weeks without coffee, and was feeling terrible and drained of life and soul. All of that she told to Nat, who had only told her "too bad" and heartlessly kept on drinking coffee in front of her. And she couldn't keep on sneaking downstairs to make coffee, because all of the coffee packets, coffee makers, and creamers had mysteriously disappeared to an unknown location, and Natasha refused to give it up. Or drink anything other than shop-bought coffee, which she knew Cat couldn't access. The evil woman.

Knowing about Natasha's real identity had its ups and downs. On one hand, that made her terrifying when the woman wanted to be. On the other, Cat could pester all of them about how she "told them so". Living with three of the Avengers was pretty awesome. None of them agreed to teaching her about beating up people, but they had plenty of stories to tell about their adventures and the people they'd met.

Lying under the table at Cat's feet, Taco barked. The dog had taken to lying in that position every mealtime. For some odd reason, she hated the canned dog food and loved bacon and pizza. Cat snuck Taco food at mealtimes, even though Nat said that was bad because something about dogs being spoiled and blah blah blah. At the moment, she was tossing Taco a piece of bacon discreetly under the table.

"What time does your school start again?" Nat asked offhandedly.

Cat checked the time. "...about thirty seconds ago."

"What?" There was a long, drawn-out groan from her. "Hurry up, you're going to be late."

"I'm already late."

"Exactly my point." She tossed Cat her backpack. "Better run."

"What's the point?" Cat called as she slipped her feet in the first shoes she saw and yanked open the door. "I'm already late!"

* * *

She did sprint, and was still late— by a whole twenty minutes. The second she stepped inside her classroom, she was assaulted by a sprinting pink blur.

"CAT!" Roxanne had magically predicted that she would walk in at that specific time, and had planned the attack to the very second because the collision happened exactly when the door thudded closed. She bowled into her, grinning from ear to ear. She wrapped her arms around Cat in a rib crushing hug, officially violating her bubble space. "You're still alive!"

"Thanks?" She patted her on the back awkwardly. "Also, ow."

Roxanne stepped away with a sheepish look. Strands of her styled ringlets had fell into her face. She was wearing light but perfectly applied makeup. Glittery eye makeup, whatever it was called, pink lip gloss, and fine powder dusted on her cheekbones. Roxanne saw Cat looking at it and smiled wider. "Isn't the makeup just fabulous?"

"Mmm, yeah." Cat set her backpack down. The entire class was watching at them. "Do you guys mind?" she asked pointedly.

Mrs. Davies coughed from the front of the room. "Glad you could finally join us, Cat. Do you have a late pass from the office?" Cat shrugged and the teacher frowned. "That's fine for today, but next time you're expected to have one the next time. No excuses. Roxanne, I'm sure you two are thrilled to see each other, but now is not the time to socialize. Both of you, please take a seat."

Cat sunk down in her seat, preparing herself for a long day of learning. Logan just stared ahead, not acknowledging her existence. A rock could have came and sat down in her seat for all the attention she was getting from him. But James, sitting diagonal from her, mouthed "Where were you?" at her from their table. But she didn't get to answer him, because at that moment Mrs. Davies clapped her hands together. "I have good news! This week we will not have much academic work."

The class exploded in cheers.

"As we all know, the talent show is coming up. This means that we will have many students displaying their talent."

Cat's first thought to that was _and along with other groundbreaking information, two plus two is four._ The second was _wait, what?_ She'd never heard of a talent show happening around here. Next to her, Roxanne looked ready to pass out from excitement.

"This is great!" she hissed into Cat's ear.

"What's great?"

"I thought our class would do something a little different this year," Mrs. Davies interrupted again. "We will be performing a play at the end of the talent show. We will be focusing on learning our roles and memorizing our lines for this week. We will also be doing a research project for the play we choose." She waited for the students to cheer again.

Instead, there was a chorus of groaning from the class. Only Roxanne out of everyone looked joyous at the news. That made sense, Cat thought. The girl was always so dramatic. (Not that she was one to talk, anyway.) The teacher tried to calm the class down by saying, "Settle down, settle down!"

Cat called out, "Are we being graded?"

"No, you will not. This is for the talent show only. QUIET!" she bellowed suddenly, so loud that everyone shut up. "If we keep this up, we'll just have to settle for doing worksheets for the rest of the week." She smiled when everyone stayed silent. "We have three Christmas themed choices, since we all know Christmas is coming up."

"Yeah!" James whooped loudly. He smiled sheepishly when Mrs. Davies shot him a warning frown.

Meanwhile, Cat was just noticing the wreaths and the decorations around the classroom. She'd forgotten about Christmas. The foster families she'd stayed with during that time celebrated Christmas, although she was never able to keep her presents after she was kicked out. She always hated the holiday. Kyle's version of "celebrating" was drinking a lot of booze and then singing Christmas carols drunkenly.

"The Wizard of Oz, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, The Grinch, or Frosty the Snowman," Mrs. Davies was saying. "We're going to take a vote now. Close our eyes and put your heads on your desks. When I call out the one you want, raise your hand _silently_." She gave James a look. He was one of the class troublemakers. "Remember, no peeking! I want to know what you want to pick, not what your friends want to pick."

Cat complied. She raised her hand for The Grinch, since Frosty was about a bunch of children singing around a smoking snowman and Rudolph seemed kind of dumb. How were they going to get twenty eight kids to play a bunch of salty reindeer? And not the Wizard of Oz, because that one made no sense.

Mrs. Davies called out, "You all can raise your heads back up. The winner of the vote is...the Wizard of Oz! Now, only half of the class will have roles in the play. The other half will work as stage crew. But don't worry, stage crew is just as much fun as being one of the characters!"

She began to pass out scripts for the play. Cat skimmed through her packet quickly. It was basically a condensed, childish version of the old movie. The only thing that made it Christmassy was that it said in the script that all the characters had to wear Santa hats.

"This is horrible." James said, mirroring Cat's thoughts. But then he said, "I want to be the lion guy and roar at everyone."

"You want to be the _cowardly_ lion?" Cat said.

"I want to be Dorothy and wear a sparkly dress!" Roxanne exclaimed.

Logan had a big sneer on his face. "Big whoop. I hear stage crew isn't much work. You just get to laze around and move the scenes around when they tell you to."

"What are you going to be, Cat?" James asked her.

Cat set the script down, having unknowingly memorized the whole thing. "I don't want to have a role. I'm not really good at acting." She _was_ good at acting, because of her experience as a certified liar, but she knew the script was going to be bad. It wouldn't surprise her if Natasha decided to show up and record the entire thing on her phone as blackmail.

"There's a role as Toto," Roxanne noticed. "Maybe you could be the dog. You don't have to talk or anything, you could just follow me around and bark and stuff."

Cat mimed throwing up in her mouth. "I'd rather die than dress up in a dog costume and bark for doggy treats."

Roxanne shook her head. "Everyone's required to audition."

"How do you know so much about the school play thing anyway?"

"I heard about my mom talking about it. She's in the Board of Trustees," Roxanne explained. "They talk about the school and funding all the time. One of the perks is that I get to know everything that's going on before it reaches anyone else. Apparently, this play is a giant fundraiser since everyone has to pay a fee to come in."

"Pay a fee to see this garbage?" Logan scoffed. "I'd rather stay at home."

Cat and James agreed heartily.

Roxanne frowned. "It's not _that_ bad, honestly." Her eyes lit up. "Oh, Cat! You could be the evil witch of the west!"

"That's not a bad idea, actually," James said. "The only good thing about being Dorothy is that you get to dump a bucket of water on the evil witch. Oh, and Cat, if you are going to play the witch, you'd better make your best dramatic evil scream as you die."

Mrs. Davies had to shout in order to be heard over the class's chatter. "Your job today is to research and fill out the questionnaire worksheet about the Wizard of Oz. Then find out what characters you want to be. The sign-up sheet is over at that table. When you are finished with everything, you may start on memorizing your lines."

* * *

"Are you going to share that?"

Alex smiled and offered her the bag. "Of course."

"Why were you absent for an entire week? I mean, if it's okay for me to ask."

"Nah, it's fine. It's actually a long story."

She started telling him a condensed version that had happened over the week. She left out the little, unimportant parts, like the Avengers. Alex was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, listened intently like he actually cared, laughed at all the right parts, and let her steal of his potato chips.

Alex and Cat were sitting side by side on a bench after school, watching the cars drive by to pick up their children. The two had become fast friends after their brief meeting at the principal's office a few weeks prior. They sat together at lunch. Alex introduced her to his friends, a soccer obsessed boy called Nick and Roxanne, who Cat already knew.

Alex was a good friend. She didn't have a lot of those, but he was easy to tease and talk to, and never judging of who she was. The two kids were complete opposites. Alex's parents were lawyers and made a lot of money. He felt like he had to constantly impress them. He made perfect grades, was athletic thanks to the variety of sport he played, and always did extra work to please his teachers. Of course, Cat found all of his effort ridiculous, but he never budged.

"No way," Alex said when she got to the hospital part.

"It was kind of hectic," she admitted. Her eyes cut to something above his head. "Hey Alex, isn't that Tony Stark's car?"

" _What_?" His head whipped around. "Why would Tony Stark be at our elementary sch—" He suddenly turned back around, glowering at her. "Wait, are you just messing with me?"

She shook her head, her eyes still focused on an expensive convertible sliding up to the parking lot. "What? No! Look, it's him. Recognize the sunglasses?"

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex turn around again, but she was watching the convertible. Seated in the driver's side was a large man in a suit and sunglasses, steering the wheel with no expression on his face. On the other was undoubtedly Tony Stark. He was sitting back with a lazy air of confidence, scanning the school behind his tinted sunglasses and dressed crisply in a classy gray suit.

"Oh my god," Alex breathed without moving his eyes from the man. "It _is_ him. Ironman."

"Minus the Ironman suit," Cat said.

The car pulled up at the no parking zone. Alex and Cat were close enough so that she could see the driver's mouth move like he was saying " _Here? You want me to park here?_ " Tony Stark nodded briskly and got out of the car, saying something to the man. But his back was facing Cat, so that she couldn't understand what he was saying.

The driver was protesting, waving his hands up in the air and gesturing at the kids around. But Tony Stark must've said something important, because the driver stopped and slouched back, resigned.

Alex was tugging at her arm. "Should we go up to him? I'll regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't."

"Sure," she said nonchalantly. "Go on."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "But I can't just _go up_ to Ironman! What should I say? What should I do?"

"I don't know. You're the one who wants to meet him. Just go for it. Who knows, you might end up walking away with a few bobble heads and a signed forehead." She smiled crookedly at him, and he glared.

Tony Stark was talking to himself. One hand was tapping at his sunglasses, and his mouth was moving inaudibly. Cat couldn't read lips well, but as he strode forward toward them with the air of a man who wanted to get somewhere, she heard him saying, "JARVIS, is the scan complete?" She had done some research on Tony Stark via Wikipedia pages after finding out that he was basically her aunt's teammate, and knew that JARVIS was his AI.

His eyes were moving around the school parking lot, his hundred-dollar shoes thudding against the street at Ruben Elementary. Alex could only stare and gape in shock. Cat might have been in the same state herself. Tony freaking Stark had just stepped foot into their school, and was walking around like it was no big deal. Kids waiting for their parents had stopped in their tracks to look at him openly like an animal at the zoo. All the cars in the parking lot had stopped to take pictures.

All Stark did was raise his arms and flash a gleaming smile. "Please, people. No flash photography during the show."

Behind Stark's orange tinted glasses, Cat saw his eyes zero in on her and got a feeling of deja-vu. His hand went back to his sunglasses, tapping the sides. His mouth was moving again, subtly, but this time she couldn't hear what he was saying. He knew who she was. The feeling doubled when she realized he was coming toward them.

Alex noticed as well. "He's coming! Wow, this is the best day of my life. Wait, why is he coming to us?" He nearly passed out when the man himself walked up to them and crouched down to their bench.

"Hello, Cat," Tony Stark said in a measured, charming voice. "Would you like a ride home?"


	19. Chapter 19: Of Convertibles and Cake

"I call shotgun!"

"Nuh-uh. That's an adult-only zone. We're both in the back. You know, since laws are a thing and all." Tony Stark said, pushing past her.

Yeah, Tony Stark just _pushed past_ her. As in, briefly touched her arm and steered her away from the front. Wasn't that awesome? It was _so_ awesome. Her inner fangirl was freaking out. Cat wished it would go away. Every time he said something, made eye contact, or continued breathing, the geek in her would be hyperventilating.

Cat didn't know what she was expecting her first meeting with Tony Stark would be like.

The subject had to arise at some point— she was living with Black Widow, she regularly talked to Hawkeye and Captain America. She knew she wasn't supposed to tell anyone about their alter egos, but it wouldn't be too much of a stretch for her to imagine meeting Tony Stark or the rest of the Avengers. But whatever she might have imagined subconsciously, it wasn't this. It would be… different. More impressive. More awe-inspiring. A few loud violins and dramatic music playing in the background wouldn't have been too bad either.

For instance, it would be at a concert or an Expo of some kind. There would be a golden spotlight cast upon him. Angels were singing _ahhhhh_ as he was showered by rose petals. And there would be a crowd of reporters, shoving microphones in his face and flashing cameras going on.

Instead, it had been… different. Tony Stark, standing by the curb in his shiny shoes and gelled hair and expensive sunglasses. He was shorter than he looked on TV, but other than that everything was the same. His fast-talking, blunt way of speaking was exactly the way she had heard it on the shows. The award-winning smile that drew out screams from women was there, shining so brightly at her it was like staring straight into the glare of a row of car lights. The effect was slightly dulled by the stay-at-home moms all around them gaping and gasping and maybe fainting, but nevertheless, it was still _Tony Stark_.

Seriously, somebody better check if hell had frozen over.

Cat didn't care if she got to sit shotgun or not— she was way too excited to get in the flashy convertible.

The driver of the car was a few feet away, conversing with a tall, stern looking woman. He was a large scowling man in a suit and tie, looking very tired and overworked, yet still intimidating. Cat recognized her as Principal No Fun, in full outraged mode wearing an orange pantsuit and her hair swept up in a professional "teacher" hairstyle.

The driver was saying, "Yes, I _know_ it's a red zone, but—!"

"No excuses, Mister! You will remove this car _immediately,_ or else I will have it removed. You can choose which option suits you best!" She stopped lecturing after she caught sight of Tony Stark strolling up to them.

Cat wished she had a camera. The look on her face! Priceless. Jaw hanging open, eyes wide, face a mess of embarrassment and shock.

"Oh! Mr. Stark! It's an honor… I mean, how dare…" Her flustered words got all tangled up with each other. Her face was red— she might have been blushing. She cleared her throat, gaining a little professional dignity. "What I meant to say is, your car is parked in the no parking zone."

"Now, now, we were just leaving. There's no reason to get so riled up about it, Mrs, uh …"

"Reacher."

"Yes, Mrs. Reacher." Tony Stark stared at her for a long moment. "Hey Happy, where's my wallet?"

Happy, the driver, seemed unhappy(HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA so funny) about this. "Tony, what are you—?"

"Wait, it's in my pocket. Never mind." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out an expensive wallet. He got out a few bills and held them to the shocked Principal No Fun.

"I can't possibly take this."

"Ah, but I insist." Tony Stark waved the crisp bills in her face. He shoved them into her hands, folding her fingers over the bills. She had the face like _I'm never washing these hands again_. "You know what? Here, I'll make a deal with you."

"A deal? I don't—"

"You take this money and fix up the school and bit, yeah? No offense, lady, but right now it's in bad shape. You'll excuse the parking mistake, and we'll leave. Oh yeah, and I'm taking the girl too," he added as an afterthought.

Then he winced. "That came out wrong. I mean in a totally, not kidnapping way. I'm, like, a family friend. Sort of." He snuck a quick glance at Cat that could have either meant _play along_ or _I promise I'm not a kidnapper._

Mrs. Reacher goggled at the bills in her hand, then at Cat. Her face contorted, which might have been due to _some_ memorable visits to the principal's office in the last few weeks. Still, she kept her voice calm and polite when she recited the school protocol. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't take a student without proof that you are who you say you are."

"I'm Tony Stark."

"Not that part."

"I'm Tony Stark," he repeated. "Why would I want to kidnap a kid?"

Principal No Fun was clearly out of cards here. "I don't know. But it's—"

"Protocol, yeah. I know. If I take the girl home right now, you'll know who took her home. And if she shows up at school tomorrow either dead or looking like she is, you'll still know who took her home. And you can press charges or whatever, I don't care."

"Fine." Principal No Fun crossed her arms. "Call her parents."

Happy nudged Stark's shoulder. "Hey Tony, maybe it's time to back off now."

"No," he said sharply. He seemed to be making a snap decision. He pulled out a Stark phone and handed it to Cat. "Dial your mom. She can confirm this."

Cat looked at him like he was an idiot. Clearly, he hadn't done his research well, even though he knew her name and other important stuff. She handed the Stark phone back. Stark took it with a quirked eyebrow.

Mrs. Reacher took this as an opportunity. "The girl clearly doesn't want to, Mr. Stark. So why don't you—"

"Hey," Cat snapped, interrupting her. "How about you just ask 'the girl'? I'm pretty sure that would help."

Silence.

Principal No Fun broke it. "Cat," she said slowly, "do you know this man?"

"Of course," she answered briskly. "Now that that's settled, we're going now." She started walking towards the car, then turned back when no one followed. "Uncle Tony, are you coming?"

The words sent a shiver down her spine, the one that said _Did I just refer to Tony Stark as my uncle? Am I dead? Have I gone to heaven?_

And she wasn't even Christian.

Mrs. Reacher looked startled by this use of title. Happy had a gobsmacked expression. (She quite liked that, actually.) And Tony Stark had his straight face on. She had no idea what he was thinking of this.

Finally, Stark glared at the principal. "Keep the cash, lady."

They walked to the car in stunned silence. Tony Stark held his fist up for Cat to bump. He whispered, "Uncle Tony, huh? I kinda like it. Nice work, kid." She tapped it lightly, feeling her heart swelling like a balloon. Her inner fangirl was shrieking her head off. Tony Stark had just _praised_ her! And fist bumped her! Wow, what was she supposed to do? There _had_ to be some kind of ritual that came after this, right?

Happy whispered something that Cat wasn't supposed to hear but she heard anyway. "That lady wasn't completely wrong, you know. You _are_ technically kidnapping her."

"Shh!" Tony Stark hushed sharply, glancing at her. "Don't listen to the bad man, Cat. I'm not a kidnapper."

"You asked me. I came. It's not a kidnap if I come of my free will."

Stark snapped his fingers and pointed at her "Exactly. What she said. You hear that, Happy? The kid agrees with me."

" _But_ ," she said significantly, "I do have a few questions."

"Fair enough. Just wait until we're on the road."

"Honestly, I can't believe that worked," Happy muttered.

"I am pretty awesome at these things," Cat said. Nearly at the same time, Stark said, "Yeah, I'm just that good."

They turned to look at each other at the same time. Cat cried, "Jinx!"

"Blackout!"

"Under the roof!"

"Under the sky!"

"Under the stars!"

"Under _God_!"

Just when Cat was about to refute that, he burst out with, "Nope! Unless you want to risk angering Happy, who is a very devoted Christian, you can't say anything to that! Nothing is above God. Isn't that right, Happy?"

"Uh, I'm an atheist."

"Ha!"

Tony Stark frowned at his driver in betrayal. " _Happy_. Seriously?"

"You two didn't even say the same thing," he pointed out. "What was the whole point of that 'jinx blackout' thing?"

"It's not the fact that we didn't say the same thing," Cat said sagely. "It's the fact that it _felt_ like we said the same thing, and that's what the jinx is all about."

"I've never heard truer words," Stark agreed heartily.

They reached the car. Stark climbed into the back, and Cat slid in beside him. The leather was smooth and shiny and soft, the interior panels were smooth like they had just been cleaned, and not a speck of dust was inside. She heaved her juvenile backpack on her lap, trying to take up the least amount of space as possible.

"You don't need to do that," Stark said. "Here, Happy will take that." He spoke to the driver. "Hey, Happy, can I bother you?"

"Uh-huh," came the sullen response.

"Can you come out here?"

He tossed the backpack to him. "Will you throw that in the back?"

Happy saluted in a way that was both sarcastic and polite. "Yes, sir."

Tony Stark noticed this and took off his sunglasses, watching the bodyguard with a stern look. "I can fire you, you know."

"Noted, sir."

Cat peered out into the parking lot and saw dozens of parents and paparazzi taking photos, which unnerved her a tiny bit. Principal No Fun was still standing at the same place where they'd left her, wearing a magnificent salty expression and gripping green bills in her hand. (In Cat's opinion, she shouldn't be complaining.) She spotted a few students in the crowd as well. Alex was sitting on the same bench, an encouraging grin on his face, waving his math homework at her. Alex did end up getting a signature from his idol. The paper he pulled out just happened to be the same paper he'd done his math on.

As she watched, he mouthed _I'm so jealous_ at her.

She waved at him as Happy closed the trunk and got into the driver's seat. The car pulled away from the parking lot in a cloud of dust.

"Okay," she said as they cruised along the road. Some people stopped and took photos. "Can I ask my questions now?"

"Only if I can ask one first."

"Go ahead."

"How did you get the cast?" He tapped the hard purple material putting her left arm into place.

"I got into a fight with a kid. He broke my arm."

"Sounds like a prick," Stark commented. "Okay, I just wanted to know. Fire away."

"What do you want with me? I'm guessing you don't pick up elementary schoolers and offer to give them rides to their house on a daily basis, right?"

"Right. I want exactly what I said I wanted, Cat. A ride home and a simple conversation."

"Fine, next question." Avoidance of questions, playing innocent? Two could play that game. Cat wasn't going to give him any of the answers he wanted. "How do you know my name?"

"I do?" He looked mildly surprised, but she suspected he was just fooling around.

"Yes. You literally _just_ said my name. And I we've never met before, but when you came up to me and Alex on that bench, you said…" She threw her voice into a deeper octave that sounded nothing like Stark's voice. "'Hello, Cat. Would you like a ride home?'" She recited the words exactly.

"I'm Tony Stark," he said simply. Cat had to wonder, was that his default response to _everything_? "I know everyone."

"That's not an answer."

Instead of replying to that, he ran a hand through his hair and watched her seriously. His sunglasses were hanging from his shirt pocket. He looked less like Tony Stark without them. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Cat. Never take rides from strangers. Even if they're incredibly handsome, rich, amazing, and not to mention intelligent celebrities."

"Oka— wait, what?"

In the driver's seat, Happy facepalmed. Whether this was because of Tony's comment or the disgusting New York traffic Cat had no idea.

"And whatever you do, never defend that stranger in front of an authority figure that you trust. And even if you don't trust them, _still_ don't defend the stranger. And especially not if they pull up in a white van. Remember, kid, never trust the white vans. You follow?"

"No."

"That's okay, it doesn't matter. Point is, Cat, don't trust me."

"I _don't_ trust you."

"That's good," he said, still completely straight-faced. "Because I could be very dangerous. I could be a mugger. I could be a kidnapper."

"You said ten minutes ago that you weren't a kidnapper."

"I know. But I could have been lying. Because if I really was a kidnapper and somehow had the technology, money, and bodyguards to fake being Tony Stark to lure you out into an abandoned alleyway, things really could have gone south for you." He said this all very seriously.

"But… you're not," Cat said for confirmation.

"No, I'm not," Tony Stark said, easing back into his seat. "But I _could have_ been. I'm glad that you didn't bail me out on your scary principal, but don't do it again. Unless it's me, of course. I'm an exception to this rule."

"Right. So, what was the point of that?"

"Like I said, a piece of life advice from me. Use it well; I don't give this stuff out sparingly."

"I can see why," she said dryly.

"What was I getting at again? Oh, right. You were wondering how I knew your name, right? Well, your mother and I are very good friends."

"I very much doubt that."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she's dead," she said bluntly.

"I'm sorry for the loss," he said, not sheepishly at all. "Well, who do you live with then?"

Cat was about to tell him, but then something about this conversation struck her as odd. She was giving him all the answers, even though she had told herself she wasn't going to! He was clearly after something— she didn't buy a thing he was saying. Fury had told her that no one was supposed to know about the Black Widow being her aunt. But from what she had gathered about Stark already, she was 75% sure that he knew.

He must have figured this would be easy. Take the kid, interrogate the kid, get all the answers. Cat would have bet anything that the car was bugged. He just needed a confession. Well, she wasn't going to give it to him.

"I don't see why I have to tell you."

He frowned at her. "This is not how it's supposed to go."

"I'd say I'm sorry about that, but I'm actually quite pleased."

"Your apology has been accepted. So it's not a mother, then what? Aunt?"

Her face must have given her away because he smiled in satisfaction.

"She never told me that she had a kid, though. On second thought, that was kind of rude of her."

"I still don't believe you. Why would my aunt know you and never tell me about it? She's never mentioned you."

Which was a lie. Natasha frequently complained about Stark. She complained about all the Avengers, but she always seemed more fond than annoyed, which was what she claimed she was.

"Not even once? We're very good friends."

"Really?"

"Okay, well… no. Not _very_ good friends. More like… decent teammates. Let's just say, if I was in the room, and Hitler was in the same room, and she had two bullets, she would shoot Hitler twice. Probably." He thought about it a little more. "Maybe. Okay, the truth is I don't know. It may be a very close draw."

"Wow," she said sarcastically. "Reassuring."

"Okay, so maybe our friendship has a few flaws—"

"Tony, this isn't going to work," Happy said from where he was yanking the steering wheel to hang a left turn.

"Happy," Stark said with exaggerated patience, not skipping a beat, "when one is receiving important answers from an individual, the other person should not interrupt in the time frame from where said important answers are being received, or else that person may find themselves homeless and jobless and on the next plane to the other side of the country."

"But just look at her! She already knows what you're up to."

Stark considered his words, then glanced at Cat.

She had gone with a blank face. It was easier than faking surprise; she wouldn't be able to pull that off.

Happy noticed her poker face in the rearview mirror. "See? She's not even surprised about it."

"Are you?" Stark asked her.

Cat didn't see the point of hiding it any longer. It was already blatantly obvious that Stark knew that she knew. During their car ride together, she had picked up on it. Stark, was not just a genius for his IQ stats. He was also surprisingly observant and clever.

"Truthfully? No. You weren't exactly super discreet while interrogating me."

Tony regarded her in a new light. "So you _are_ Widow's niece?"

"Something like that," she admitted, thinking about how much trouble she'd be in when Fury and Natasha found out that yet _another_ person had found out about her. She didn't need to be a seer to foresee a lecture heading her way.

"I can't believe she didn't tell me," Stark fumed.

Cat felt an odd urge to defend Natasha. "She couldn't. It was SHIELD protocol and stuff."

"We're teammates, for Christ's sake." His eyes lit up like he had just heard what she had been saying. "Wait, SHIELD is on this too? Did the Fury put you up to this?"

"Fury? Oh, you mean Mr. Pirate Man? Oh, he knows. So does Captain America, if you're wondering. And Clint, too."

"Katniss found out before me? No freaking way."

Cat cracked a smile. "Katniss! That's a good one. Wow, I'm so using that the next time I see him." She switched to her serious face when she realized that she wasn't supposed to be giving him all the information. "Now, tell me the truth," she demanded. "Why are you here?"

Tony Stark held his hands up, an image of surrender. "Not to do anything bad, if that's what you're thinking. I just needed to see if the SHIELD files were telling the truth."

"That's it? You just wanted to know if I was real?"

"Basically. I don't like being the one who doesn't know things. And I was right, wasn't I?"

She regarded him suspiciously but sensed no lies in his explanation. "Okay, I guess you're telling the truth."

"Incredible, isn't it? I do that from time to time."

Just then, something he said before registered with her. "Wait, SHIELD files…? You _hacked_ SHIELD?"

A shadow of a cocky smile crossed his face. "Hack is too strong of a word. I prefer the term 'surpassing the government's firewalls for the greater good'."

Happy snorted loudly.

"Wow," Cat breathed. "You might actually be cool."

She had meant it as a compliment, but Stark took offense. "Hey, I'm Iron Man. Is that not cool? Also— genius billionaire playboy philanthropist. Do long, flattering titles like that mean nothing to you?"

"I guess, but everyone knows that stuff. I think it's way cooler that you hack SHIELD."

The car stopped, the engine's loud hum fading to a light buzz. Happy had braked by a nice house— Natasha's house. Which made it her house too, she guessed. That was still weird to think about.

"Hey, this is my house. I have to get out now." She did so, unlocking the car door and hopping out gracefully. "Thanks for the ride, Mr. Stark, but I hope I never see you again at least for the next two weeks because this was very unsettling."

"Nice to meetcha, Cat. Call me Tony," he said, and didn't try to stop her. Happy even came out to retrieve her backpack.

She was one step away from the door when a thought occurred to her. She ran all the way back, just as Happy gunned the engine. Tony motioned for him to stop. He leaned out the window. "Yeah, Cat?"

"How did you know how to get here anyway?" she asked breathlessly. "I didn't even tell you the directions."

Tony flashed a charming grin. "Look at who you're talking to, kid." He tilted his head to speak to his chauffeur. "Step on it, Happy."

With that, the convertible sped off into traffic.

Cat watched it leave with a bit of relief, glad that nothing horrible happened. Natasha always said that if Tony and she ever met there would be some kind of purple explosion, followed by screaming camels and possibly a few blown up microwaves. But the billionaire didn't seem like such a bad guy to her.

She could hardly believe that something so odd had happened. Now she could go up to people and say, _Yeah, I just had a conversation with Tony Stark. You know, Iron Man. We just talked about normal stuff, like how my aunt is a spy for SHIELD, nothing out of the usual._ Returning back to her house was such a boring daily action compared to the events of that day that when she made her way to the door, seeing the front of the house and the dusty welcome mat felt foreign to her.

She pulled over a stool and climbed on it. It made her tall enough to reach on top of the doorframe for the key, which Natasha kept there for emergencies. Cat would have thought that a seasoned spy like her wouldn't do such a thing when keeping her house safe from robbers. But Nat's logic had been if they had ever dared, she would just a) beat them up or b) track them down and beat them up. And plus, the redhead had pointed out, Cat needed some way to get into the house when she was on missions.

She fumbled with opening the door for a second, but the moment she opened it, she found out that the entire house was dark. That was odd. Natasha usually left a lamp or a light switch on before she left. Taco, who was usually waiting at the door when she came back, back mysteriously absent.

Cat left her shoes on the welcome mat and locked the door behind her. She walked in the darkness for a while, humming slightly to relax her nerves. _The door was locked_ , she told herself _, so there can't have been an intruder._ She felt around until her fingers came on the light switch, then flicked it.

"SURPRISE!"

She nearly jumped out of her skin as Natasha, Clint, and Steve popped out from the kitchen counter. Steve was holding a cake with a smudge of flour on his face, Clint was holding a stack of presents, and Natasha was standing next to them with a knowing smile. Natasha was holding Taco, who had started barking again. The kitchen was messy, with evidence of a struggle. Flour on the cupboards, ingredients on the counters, measuring cups and spoons on every surface.

Cat stood in the middle, taking it all in. Her feet were rooted to the ground. What was happening?

"Did we get you?" Steve asked gleefully.

She gave him a shaky grin. "Y-yeah, you got me pretty good."

"Happy birthday, kid!" Clint told her, jumping over the counter(yes, jumping OVER the counter) to get to her.

Birthday?

"It's December twelfth," Natasha said, trying to jog her memory. "Your birthday." She had a small, sad smile that told Cat that she knew.

Cat didn't tell anyone her birthday, ever since three years ago she'd lost her parents. It was something special to her, and any other birthday with presents and kids would never feel the same as it did when her parents were around. Kyle never mentioned it, and none of her foster families cared to ask.

"Right," she said blankly. "I remember."

A memory floated up to her, like an inflatable beach ball springing up from the bottom of a deep, dark pond.

 _Happy birthday, kid,_ her mom told her and passed her a present.

 _Oh, I see how it is,_ her father said playfully. _Because I got to choose the wrapping paper you get to give it to her first?_

 _No, it's because my present is better and_ the first _is the best._

 _Uh, last time I checked, the expression was first is the worst. Second is the best._

 _We'll see about that,_ her mom rebuked.

 _Fine, how about we let our daughter choose?_ Her father turned to her expectantly. _It's her birthday, after all._

 _Okay, Cat,_ her mother said, a challenge in her eyes, _Which present do you want to open first?_ Unseen by her father, her mother mouthed, _pick mine._

Cat smiled happily and held up the present in her hands, the one that her mom gave her. _This one!_

Her mother mussed up her hair fondly while her father drew out an exaggerated groan. _Atta girl, Cat._

He pretended to fall back dramatically, putting a hand to his chest like he'd been shot. _My only daughter, why must you wound me so?_

It was after the party. Her entire first grade class had been invited, but now they were gone and the house was eerily still and quiet with the absence of loud laughter and excited shrieks. What was left of the cake was still on the table, streamers and decorations on the floor. Her classmates' presents were strewn all over the floor. As chaotic and messy as the living room was, it was the most perfect sight she'd ever seen.

Now it was just her and her parents, and it felt more perfect than anything she could have imagined.

 _Go on,_ her mom said, a grin lighting up her face.

Cat lifted the tape off the wrapping gently, wanting to preserve every imperfect crease of the paper. She wasn't like normal five-year-olds, who would have tore into the wrapping the second it was handed to them. Her thin, nimble fingers worked delicately against the wrapping of the present.

Her dad watched in bemusement. _You're not supposed to open a present that way._

 _Hush, you old geezer,_ her mom shushed him. _She can do whatever she wants. It's her birthday._

Turning a deaf ear to Cat's protests, he reached over and tore off a piece of wrapping paper. _See? Like that._

 _No!_ Cat cried. _Not like that!_

Her mother threw her dad a glare. _I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your father is being stupid right now. She turned to him, hands on her hips. See? She's upset._

Her father pouted at her, making her scowl turn less fierce. _Aw, I'm sorry, Kit-Kat._

Cat giggled. Despite her previous mood, he didn't really mind. _It's okay._

Finally, the wrapping paper was all gone. In its place was a pendant. Its chain looked thin and frail, but when Cat pulled on it, it didn't break. A gold ring hung from it, thick and beautiful. Her initials, C.A.G. were engraved into it. Curious, she ran her finger over the smooth lines.

 _Like it?_ Her mother smirked like she already knew the answer to it.

 _Love it,_ she responded. _It's pretty._

 _I'll help you put it on,_ her mom said. Cat stayed still as she fumbled with the ends of the necklace. She liked the idea of having something special that was hers.

 _Oh, please,_ her father said. _Here, Kit-Kat, open mine._ He thrust a big bag at her.

 _You didn't even wrap yours,_ her mother pointed out accusingly.

This time Cat looked into the bag. She found candy bars, chocolate, and other treats. With it, a huge stuffed rabbit that was a light shade of pink. She stroked its fur, her fingers enjoying it.

 _Chocolate!_ She yelled in delight.

 _What?_ Her mother looked into the bag. _Oh, no. Chocolate? That's cheating, Andrew. You know how she gets when she has too much sugar._

 _Excuse me?_ Cat asked. _I never!_

 _She never!_ Her father copied.

Her mother softened. _Fine. What are you going to name your bunny?_

Cat thought about it. _Muffin!_ She decided.

 _Muffin?_ Her mother asked in amusement. _How about something more dignified?_

 _Muffin is dignified,_ her dad said. _So it's decided. I win the present war._

 _Not yet you don't,_ her mother argued. _Cat gets the final verdict. Which one do you like better, Cat?_

She looked at the treats and the bunny, then at the beautiful necklace. _I can't decide. Both of you win!_

Her parents frowned. Her mother said, _Cat, that's not how it works._

 _Yes, it is,_ she said. _Can I eat more cake now?_

Her mom looked at her dad. _It_ is _her birthday._

 _She has ADHD, Rachel._

 _Oh, yeah._

 _No_ , both of them said in unison.

She remembered the memory so well. It was one of those times she hated her photographic memory. Most kids didn't even remember when they were that young. But she did. Every vivid little detail. It was so real that it hurt, to imagine what could have been but what was gone.

She didn't even have Muffin or the necklace anymore. Muffin had been torn to shreds by the mean kids at the foster home, and she had lost the pendant in Kyle's old house. She suspected that he had traded the gold in for money, but had never faced him about it.

Taco was licking her face and nuzzling her, knowing that something was wrong. She was a really clever dog. She was lucky to have her.

"Cat?" Steve was waving his hand in her face. "You okay there?"

"Maybe it's too much," Natasha said.

"No, no, it's fine," Cat said, swallowing a lump in her throat. "It's just… it's great. Amazing. How did you even know it was my birthday?"

It was Clint who answered. "It was in your file. You seriously thought we wouldn't celebrate your birthday?"

"Sorry, it's a little small," Natasha said, "but since we can't let anyone know about you and _us_ , we thought that we'd throw you a little party."

Cat thought about telling her about the Tony Stark episode, but decided that could wait until morning. Right now she needed something to take off the sad memories. She needed to focus on the present, not the past. She willed all of her memories to go away.

She beamed happily, disguising the pain behind a mask. "No, this is great."

Natasha sensed that something was wrong. She frowned. "Cat, what—"

"Time for presents!" Clint yelled, and showered her in gifts.

"Wow, this is a lot. You guys didn't need to go to all this trouble and do all this. I would have been happy with cake."

"What? Please tell me you didn't say that." Clint drew back, appearing scandalized. "C'mon, every eight year old wants a giant birthday party. Now, open your presents!" He looked at her expectantly like a dog waiting for treats.

The presents were a little difficult to open with her cast, but they helped her through it. She felt happiness rising in her like a balloon as she saw them. Steve gave her a drawing pad, a few artsy things, and a few stuffed animals. Clint gave her a Nerf bow and arrows, Nerf guns, and a wide assortment of chocolate. Natasha had given her a Guinness World Records book and chew toys for Taco, with a bracelet made from smooth, rose pink rocks.

Cat slipped on the bracelet, the rocks cool against her skin, and ask where she'd found it. It was beautiful.

"I picked it up on one of my SHIELD assignments," Natasha told her.

Cat put all the wrapping paper in one pile, planning to save it for later. She gathered all of her presents into another, feeling like the richest person in the world. How long had it been since someone had looked at her this way, or given her anything at all? How long since she'd been able to have anything she wanted? How long since she'd felt this happy, or had this big of a smile on her face?

She thanked all of them profusely and didn't make one witty remark about it.

It had to be a dream. Nothing this good lasted this long. If it was a dream, she hoped it never ended. It was like a bubble. Bouncy, fragile, light. If even one sharp needle came into contact, the entire thing would pop and it would be gone forever.

After all, all bubbles had to pop at some point. They rose so tall in the sky, only to be popped by the atmosphere, or a passing goose, or a plane.

But this bubble that she was in, it never popped. Not once throughout the evening, when she laughed at Clint's bad jokes, copied Steve's graceful pencil lines, or exchanged witty barbs with Natasha. They ate the cake that Steve made, and although it was a little dry and there was too much frosting to be healthy, it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.

Even when they left and Natasha told her for the millionth time that week that no, she couldn't have coffee before she went to bed.

It was so, so perfect.

For the first time in what felt like years, Cat fell asleep with no trouble at all.

* * *

 **I just want to mention that some people have been asking where this story takes place. I've responded differently to different people, so I thought I'd clear the air and say this: this story takes place after the Age of Ultron. In this FF, Coulson is alive and Peter Parker is 16 when Cat is 8. Well technically now she's nine but whatever.**

 **See you (hopefully) soon!**


	20. Chapter 20: The Return of Stark

**To no one's surprise, this chapter was late! But now it's here, so happy reading.**

* * *

Tony was thinking.

Not just brainstorming thinking, but _thinking_ thinking.

It was something he wasn't used to. Usually when he got an idea, it was only halfway to his brain before he was grabbing a pen for a new design. Perks of having a genius IQ. He never had to wait too long before something came to mind. He didn't "ponder" things. He didn't think deeply.

He had ridiculous, unpredictable, spontaneous ideas, and used them to his advantage at every interval.

As long as they didn't involve setting someone on fire, they were in the okay zone.

Cat, however, was something he needed to think about.

How had he gotten himself here, anyway?

He'd been snooping around SHIELD's files, for… uh, no reason in particular, of course, then was passing Natasha's when he noticed there was a new security measurement added to her page. A nasty one. All that hard work and dedication to block one paragraph…when he saw something like that, it was just bad manners to not hack into it.

He'd give SHIELD this— they had drastically updated their tech in the last few years. They had really amped up their security to block him from "browsing" through their info.

Anyway, it took him twenty whole minutes to break in and quickly skim it.

"Props to you, SHIELD."

He thought it was fake at first. That maybe some underpaid intern had hacked into SHIELD and typed it up as a joke.

Because there was no way in hell that Black Widow had a kid, right?

Well, Nat _had_ been acting strange lately. She'd been more distracted than usual, constantly making up excuses and rushing off to someplace. Steve and Clint were less verbal questioning her about it. Yes, Tony actually noticed these things, despite that everyone thought otherwise. His guess was that she had turned to SHIELD again and was going on missions to ease her mind.

In the file, there was a photo of the girl. It must have been taken in the foster home she was at, because it was of bad quality and she looked young. He could make out blond hair and brown eyes. Tony could see the resemblance. Not in the colors, but the features. The hard line to her mouth and the determined set of her chin.

He called up Happy. "For reasons too complicated to explain, I need you to drive me to this address."

He took five long seconds to process this. "Boss, it's two am."

"Really?" Wow, time really flew when you were being productive.

"I'm going back to sleep."

"Tomorrow morning, then."

And then he had. He was planning on going to the school, finding out that it was all a joke, and spinning it all into a hilarious anecdote that he would tease Widow about.

Instead, he got… Cat.

Normally, Tony wasn't good with little kids. He wasn't a kid hater— mostly he thought they were innocently funny and just a tad bit needy. But it was difficult talking to kids for some reason. The height of his interactions with them were a simple autograph and a few awkward words were he was supposed to tell them to "follow your dreams" or whatever.

Cat was different. Maybe it was the fact that she reminded himself of a younger, blonde, more ADHD version of himself.

Intellect-wise, she was an adult trapped in a child's body. She spoke and acted like someone several years older. Not only was her vocabulary significantly larger than any other eight year old he had met, but she had clearly gone through hard times. Her face was too controlled, too tight and packed with hidden emotions. It was a face Tony knew well. He saw it every time he glanced in the mirror.

Tony was not at all, in every way, a man made of iron. His father had taught him that better than anyone. But through the constant betrayals, kidnappings, and traumatic near-death experiences, he'd learned to keep his head high and his shiny fake Tony Stark smile on. He kept his cool, insulted a few important people, and had a nice glass of champagne twice in a while.

(Because that, ladies and gentlemen, was called _coping_.)

Age aside, she was fun to banter with. Tony had never met someone who could come up with a snappy comeback in the blink of an eye as quickly as he could. They had only one conversation, but her wit gave Tony's a run for his money. It was like a wild, uncontrolled dance, and she was trying to step on his toes. He had to swerve and get out of the way, or find a way to defend them.

And when Happy drove away, Tony was left intrigued. Who _was_ she?

He did a little snooping around, nothing _too_ illegal(there was still the pirate to keep in mind), and came up with quite a few interesting things. Orphan at age six, diagnosed with ADHD, and had a bad rep with foster homes.

Maybe he was a little jealous of Cap and Katniss. Why did they get to know and not him? Wasn't he a part of the team as well? And there was no way he was letting the pirate know more about the girl than he did.

There was only one logical solution.

* * *

 **A FEW HOURS LATER(read in Spongebob voice)**

 _Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong._

Cat dragged herself from the blankets on the floor with a groan. She checked the time. Four a.m. Who could be ringing the doorbell at four a.m? And why hadn't Natasha woken up before she had to open the door?

 _Ding-dong. Ding-dong._

She stumbled downstairs. She spotted all of her opened presents from the night before and went over to the pile. She picked out a loaded Nerf gun (just in case) and headed over to the door, the doorbell still ringing. She peered through the peephole.

"Jeez," she muttered. She yanked open the door, and shouted, "Have you never heard of proper doorbell ringing protocol?"

"Good morning to you too," Tony Stark said, not looking offended in the slightest, "I thought I was going to have to stand here forever."

Right. Tony Stark was standing on her welcome mat. She had to take a couple yoga breaths and tell herself, _This is completely, utterly, one hundred percent normal_. He was wearing a suit, his usual sunglasses, and holding a cup of coffee and for some reason, a box of chocolates.

"Chocolates?" he offered, holding out the box.

Cat took it wordlessly and set it down on the small table behind the door. Who was she to refuse chocolate? She was still pointing the Nerf gun at him.

"Coffee?"

She eyed it carefully. "Now you're talking to me on a spiritual level."

He just grinned. That stupid grin, she wanted to wipe it off his face. But he _had_ bought her coffee...

Cat took the cup and downed it. When she finished the mug of goodness, she set it down with the chocolates. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, suddenly feeling like Tony Stark was her most favorite person in the entire world. He had bought her coffee.

This couldn't be Tony Stark. Tony Stark did not barge into random children's houses after having kidnapping them from school. He didn't bring chocolates. The only explanation for him showing up at her door was that he was an imposter. Or maybe he planned on putting a bag over her head and kidnapping her again.

She was starting to sound like a broken record player, with all of her "oh my God I can't believe this is happening Tony Stark Iron Man billionaire really rich why is he doing this what is happening." She had made the executive decision to treat him like a normal person instead of a celebrity, but it was hard. Especially because every three seconds she'd look at him and think, _I can't believe this is happening._

He didn't put a bag over her head. Instead he flashed an acre of teeth at her. "Also, surprise!" He did jazz hands. They didn't suit him.

"It's a little after visiting hours, Stark."

"Yeah, I noticed. Hence the 'surprise' part of my 'surprise,'" he added. "And I thought I told you to call me Tony."

"Is this," she waved her Nerf gun at him, "going to become a regular thing? If it is, next time can you pick up some paper towels while you're at it?"

"Paper towels?"

"Yeah, we're out. We're also out of Thin Mints, Kleenex, bubble wrap, lotion— Actually now that I think about it, we're out of everything. The only thing we have is disgusting kale and this expired brownie mix and Natasha doesn't trust me to not set the kitchen on fire after last time, so I can't even use that."

"Do you know who you're speaking to?"

"Pretty sure you told me to call you 'Tony.' Is that a yes to the paper towels?"

"I don't run errands. I leave that to the interns."

"Could your interns—"

He interrupted. "Is that a _Nerf_ gun? Were you about to shoot me?"

Only if you were a bank robber. I mean, a house robber. Is that a thing? House robber? Natasha says it's also okay to accidentally on purpose shoot the snotty tax collector man but he hasn't come by yet so I don't know."

"You can put that down now. You know, since I'm obviously not the snotty tax collector man. Or a house robber."

She complied. "So it is a thing?"

"It is now." His eyes strayed to her left hand, which no longer had the torturous purple cast on it. "I see you've gotten the cast off," he said casually.

"Yep." She wiggled her fingers a little bit to showcase his point.

Two days earlier, she'd gone to see Dr. Matthews at the local hospital. They took an x-ray. Her arm had healed twice as early as they had expected it. The doctor deemed her all healed but suggested to not do any strenuous activities. Cat was okay with that; it gave her a week's free pass from PE.

He quirked an eyebrow at her in a way that might have been comical if the situation hadn't been so bizarre. "Are we just going to stand here?"

"How rude of me. Well, this was a nice conversation, but I'm going to close the door now."

She began to do so but he moved his foot just in time to wedge it between the doorframe. The door thudded against his shoes. He opened the door again, examining his shoe, which had the tiniest smidge of dirt on it.

"Now look what you've done. Is this what I get for coming over to your house bearing gifts? You ruin my shoes?"

"I'm sure you'll manage somehow." Like he didn't have another fifty-two hundred pairs of shoes he could wear to replace them. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you didn't come all the way here from your big fancy tower to say hi. So what do you want?"

"Maybe I _did_ come here all the way from my fancy tower to say hi. Maybe I am just that wonderful."

"Answer the question or the door is gonna close, whether your foot is there or not."

"I see the familial resemblance now."

She began to close the door.

He moved his foot before it closed on it and reached for Cat's forearm. She saw it coming but wasn't prepared for the sudden movement. The vision of his fingers wrapping around her skin in an iron grip filled her with fear. Before he could touch her, she ripped her hand away from the doorknob like it had burst into flames.

"Don't," she warned loudly.

 _Stupid_. She had switched from calm and relaxed to angry and defensive in 0.2 seconds, which had most likely freaked Tony out. She stood still now, her heartbeat loud in her ears.

He put his hands up, looking at her warily now and with a bit of surprise. "Okay. Okay. I didn't hurt you, did I?" he added as an afterthought.

He hadn't even touched her.

" _No_." It came out more aggressive than she had intended. "I mean, no, you didn't," she said in a slightly more amiable voice.

"Okay then. I shouldn't have touched you. That was my bad. May I come in?"

She paused, wavering. She wanted to amend her sharp tone by saying yes, but at the same time, he hadn't told her what he was doing here, so she wasn't sure if it was a good idea.

He paused, seeming to be deciding what to do. "You're having trouble deciding, so I'm going to rephrase myself. I'm coming in." He pushed past her and shuddered as he entered the room. "Jesus, it's cold in here."

Seeing that she had no choice but to let him in, Cat shut the door behind him.

Tony cranked up the heat, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. "Much better. Hey, where's Romanoff?"

"Sleeping, probably."

"Lovely, lovely," he mused delightedly, ignoring her sarcastic tone.

She looked at him closer. "Why are you wearing sunglasses? It's dark outside."

"...reasons."

"Fine. Be like that."

"I will be like that, thank you." He strode over to the kitchen and pulled out a chair. "Have a seat, Cat," he said like he owned the place.

But since he had given her coffee, she obliged. "Why are you—"

Tony, however, remained standing. "Hold up, Miss Twenty Questions. Priorities first. Where's the food?"

Keep on avoiding the question it is.

"Look in the fridge."

He opened the door and his eyes lit up. "Ooh! Cake! What's the occasion?"

"It was my birthday yesterday."

He nearly dropped the plate. "It was your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We barely know each other. You don't tell a complete stranger when your birthday is."

"Yes, you do. You tell _everyone_ when it's your birthday."

"Maybe you do. That's begging for attention." Cat looked at him. "Then again, I shouldn't be surprised."

Tony rifled through the cabinets for a fork, lifting up the plate with one hand, waiter style. "Touché." He set down the plate on the table and offered a fork to Cat. "Cake?"

"Thanks."

They didn't bother cutting into the cake. They both took a bite in unison. Cat's piece was smaller than Tony's. She'd learned the hard way that too much of it at once could give anyone a sugar crash.

Tony choked on his bite. "Dear Lord. This is what diabetes taste like."

Cat was already pouring two cups of milk.

Tony chugged down the entire cup in one go and gestured for more.

"It can't be that bad. Even Natasha didn't think it was that bad, and she drinks kale smoothies."

"Tell me where you bought that cake and I will sue the store."

"Steve made it."

"Of course he did," Tony said acidly. "Clearly they did things differently back in the forties. Cap can't cook anything except ramen. As a self respecting scientist, I know that you can't burn water, but he gives it his best shot."

There was another bout of silence before Cat remembered what she was about to ask him before he cut her off.

"Mr. Stark," she started, "I had one conversation with you, and suddenly you decide that we're BFF's? You come to the house, bribe me with chocolate and coffee. What do you want?"

"Let's just say," he began slowly, "I want to be the fun one."

"The fun one?"

"Yeah. You know, the fun rich uncle that lets you do whatever you want."

"That doesn't sound bad," Cat mused. "Other than the fact that it sounds completely insane. I barely know you."

"You're going to be seeing a lot of me, obviously. Frankly, I'm a little pissed at Natasha for not telling me you existed. We're a team, and not to brag or anything, but the 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'. When we don't know stuff, you'd better bet that we're _going_ to know stuff. Starting with secret relatives that the rest of us never knew existed. So I'm going to make a petty comeback, which means that you're going to have to work with me."

Cat looked at him blankly. "So you're going to… what, exactly?"

He paused, wondering. "I don't really know, but my gut is telling me that we have to start with food and work our way forward. Now, what do you have here that won't kill me before I hit fifty?"

"There are pizza rolls in the freezer," Cat offered, then realized how stupid that sounded. Who ate pizza rolls at four a.m.? "We also have Cheerios and gummy worms."

"That'd be grand. The pizza rolls, not the gummy worms." He took off his sunglasses, revealing his tired eyes, and slumped into a chair with all of the exhaustion of a middle-aged man in the midst of a midlife crisis. (Hey, try saying that five times fast.)

Cat hadn't expected him to agree, so she just sat there for a moment or two.

He lifted his head to look at her. "I'm a billionaire. You can't honestly expect me to microwave my own pizza rolls. Chop chop."

But before she could say anything to that, he shook his head and got up with a loud sigh. He made it look like it took a great deal of effort. "I'm totally kidding. That would be child labor."

Five minutes later, the kitchen was filled with the smell of pizza rolls.

There was something nice about being awake really in the early hours of the morning. It was quiet and calm and serene, which could almost fool you into thinking that it was going to be a quiet and peaceful day. They both sat at the table and ate food in comfortable amiable silence.

Cat was mulling over their conversation, replaying parts of words in her head. The idea that she might get to know Tony Stark on a regular day to day basis was baffling. The 'fun uncle'? What was up with that? She was also marveling at the fact that they could be talking about something serious, then switch to another topic in the conversation and keep the ball rolling like it was normal. How had they made the switch from the fun uncle to pizza rolls?

Tony chewed on a pizza roll thoughtfully. "This isn't bad."

Cat laughed.

"What?"

"It's just— I'm sharing pizza rolls with a billionaire for breakfast."

Tony looked perplexed. "We have to eat, too."

"I know. It's just funny."

"You're weird," he commented.

" _You're_ weird."

"You're weirder."

" _You're_ —"

"You don't do anything after school, right?" he asked abruptly, shifting from one position to another in the chair.

Startled by the question and the sudden change of topic, she could only say, "Huh?"

"Because if you don't," he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly at her, "you should drop by to the tower sometime."

 _Smooth_ , Tony thought to himself, _real smooth._

"What?"

It wasn't that she was trying to be insulting, but the sheer lack of reality in his sentence made her words skeptical. Why would he want her to visit the tower? They hadn't even known each other for a full 24 hours! And now he wanted to spend time with her? Cat wanted to shout, "WE DON'T KNOW EACH OTHER!"

Most people would have stuttered and become uncomfortable, but Tony soldiered through. "You should drop by the tower sometime. You could help out in the lab. Like an intern. But not. Because I've got an intern already, his name's Peter and you'll love him. Kid just has a way of growing on you, you know? So you'll be a kind of... mini intern. Pre-intern? Huh, I don't think that's a thing."

"If you already have an intern, then why do you need me?"

He gave her an annoyed glance, like she was the one who was making no sense. "You think interns grow on trees, kid?"

"Maybe if you offered to intern a sapling—"

"No, they don't! That's because interns have lives, and even with their awesome new job they still have to do other things. Namely, not interning. But if you can be there, I won't have to go through the headache of phoning an intern every time I need someone to hold my blueprints up for me to see when my hands are full."

When he paused for breath, Cat took her chance.

"Tony."

"Yes, dearest Kitty-Kat?"

"Don't call me that," she growled fiercely. Only one person in her life got to call her that.

He raised his hands mockingly. "Aye-aye, captain. Ask your question."

"Why me?"

"Because Pepper's been badgering me to interview and find a new intern, and I've been putting it off because that kind of work takes a lot out of me. You know how hard it is to find a teenager that ticks every box? Not to mention, she's the CEO of the company so she's supposed to find people to help find people for me. But she won't, because she keeps on going on about how busy she is and since she only owns twelve percent I might as well— you know what? That was one comment I made and ever since then it's been coming back to bite me in the— well, you know what I mean."

Cat shook her head, still struggling to follow his train of thought. She had no idea what events he was referencing. "I still don't know what this has to do with 'why me?'"

"'Cause you're smart. You don't talk like the kids I've talked to. You've never had your IQ tested, but I bet if you did, they'd be off the charts. Probably has something to do with that photographic memory, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I have my way of getting information," he said enigmatically. "AKA, I'm a hacker."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"Not if you're me. And since I am me, there's no problem with it."

"I think that the police would think otherwise. And I wasn't talking about that anyway. Isn't interning me illegal?"

"Technically, you're not interning for me. It's pre-intern, remember? You'll kinda just help around in the lab, talk about whatever you kids talk about with the others, memorize stuff for me. But speaking of the photographic memory, that is _awesome_. You know what you could do with that? You know how many people would kill for that kind of memory?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "Are you _spying_ on me?"

He looked slightly affronted. "Spying? No. I don't do that. But I might've, maybe, exchanged a few words with your teacher."

"About _me_?"

He gave her a deadpan stare. "No, not about you. We had an exciting ten minute discussion about the mating habits of eastern box turtles."

"Alright, I get it," she said, glaring a little. "So, define 'a few words'."

"It was a little conversation, okay? Don't read too much into it. I asked a few questions, she told me interesting stuff, it was a normal thing. Just minor necessary investigating."

"Or," she pointed out, "you could've just, oh I don't know, _asked_ me?"

"Not the point," said Tony, holding up a finger to halt her next train of thought. "What about it? Yes? Is that a yes? At least give me a definite maybe. Say, 'I'll definitely maybe consider it.'"

"I'll definitely maybe consider it."

"Then that's all I needed." Tony pulled out a Stark phone. The screen lit up when he brought it to his face to check the time. "Holy guacamole! Is it really 4:50 already? I should probably go before anyone comes down."

Cat looked at the clock, surprised at how quickly time had passed. And how not tired she felt. She felt like she'd been awake for hours.

Tony placed the phone on the table. "New model," he said casually, straightening his tie and pushing up his sunglasses. "Keep the phone, Cat. It's got my contact info in it. If you need anything, just give me a call. It's got Happy's number in it too, if you want to text him."

She grabbed the shiny new phone and ran a finger over the casing, hardly believing that it was real. It might've been the most expensive thing she'd ever had. "Niiiice."

He squinted at her suspiciously. "I don't hand things like this out willy-nilly, so I can trust you to not give the number to anyone else, right?"

"I'm not an idiot," she said scoffingly, then realized how rude that sounded. She normally didn't care, but just look at who she was talking to. "I mean, of course not, Mr. Stark." She gave him her best dimpled smile, the one with all the teeth.

"For the last time, it's _Tony_ , or I'll keep on calling you Kitty-Kat. That seems to tick you off, doesn't it?"

" _Bye_ , Tony," she said forcefully, getting up from her chair and prodding him forward.

"You haven't seen the last of me," he promised, before the door was opened for him and he was shoved out of it.

Cat shut the door. She stayed standing for a moment, her fingers still on the doorknob. Her fingers that she had used to shove Tony Stark out the door were slightly tingling, the sensation one gets after placing their fingers in fizzing soda. She was barely breathing, thinking what any sane person had to be thinking if they were in her shoes. She voiced her thoughts aloud.

"How the _frick_ did that happen?"

Spoiler alert: she didn't use frick.

* * *

Two hours later, Natasha found Cat sitting at the table playing checkers with herself, head propped up by a hand. This wasn't an unusual sight, as Cat was always hyper and had trouble sleeping after given an excessive amount of sugar. Perhaps letting her eat as much of the chocolate cake as she wanted wasn't the best parenting choice of last night.

But it _was_ her birthday, and her first celebration in a long time(Natasha could tell), so to hell with good parenting choices.

Cat looked up. Her eyes were awake and alert, which meant that she had at least gotten a fair amount of hours of sleep. Natasha could tell when she didn't, and it was most days. "Hi," she said, which was more of a greeting than Nat usually got. "We're out of paper towels."

"Oh?"

"And Kleenex."

"I'll ask Steve to drop by the store." The redhead pulled out a chair and sat down. She moved one of the red pieces and took two black checkers in a move.

"I saw that one coming."

"Why does it smell like pizza rolls in here?"

"Breakfast," she said dully, playing with the strands of her hair. She moved a black checkers and took one of the red pieces.

Natasha made a face, about to rebuke it with a harmless comment when she noticed something odd. "Then why are there two dirty plates?"

"Because Tony Stark was using the other one," she responded in the same monotone.

"Ha-ha," Natasha said, rolling her eyes.

"No, actually."

"That's hilarious, Cat."

"Suit yourself," she said, and went back to playing the game by herself.

Natasha took out her phone and checked her messages. A text from Steve.

 _Have you seen the news?_

It was odd that he didn't just tell her outright. She frowned— then froze as she saw the headline on the news app.

It screamed _STARK'S SECRET CHILD_ in all caps, with an unmistakable picture of Stark sitting in a car with a certain blond haired girl. She skimmed the few lines of text underneath, unsurprised to find that it was full of garbage. It had shady conspiracy theories, none actual facts or information. But the picture was a hundred percent real and completely undeniable.

This was bad. This was really bad. She needed to contact Director Fury. But not before she wrung Tony Stark's stupid neck and smacked the smug look off of his face. But before she did that…

"You're so dead," she started slowly, looking up to see that the girl was grinning nervously at her.

"In my defense, I _did_ tell you."

"You couldn't have told me earlier?"

"It just sort of… slipped my mind."

"Oh, I bet it did." Nat glanced up. "Is that a Stark phone on the counter? God, he was _here_? As in, here this morning?"

Cat winced. "Um. Yeah."

"And you couldn't have lead with that?" she demanded.

She shrugged.

Natasha held up her phone, revealing the picture. "And what's with this?"

"It's kind of a long story…"

* * *

 **Hope this satisfied you guys. I'm going to stop promising to update quickly because I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I HOPE that the next chapter comes soon. Peter's coming up in the next chapter! Yay! (Or possibly the chapter after that chapter.) But yay!**

 **I want to thank all my loyal reviewers for reviewing! Thanks for all the cc, the compliments, even some of the hate, though I haven't gotten a lot of that. I'm seriously looking back at chapter 1 and wishing that I did a lot of things differently. Thanks so much!**


	21. Chapter 21: The Fight

After Nat had made Cat tell her the whole story, she made two calls: One to Tony Stark and one to Nick Fury.

Cat had first idled(read: eavesdropped) by the door while she rang up Stark. She felt pretty guilty about the conversation that Tony had to endure. It wasn't all his fault. She was the one who had gotten into the car willingly. She felt like she owed Tony something for being so nice and giving her coffee and pizza rolls and giving her an internship at his tower. But it didn't sound like there was anything bad that would be happening to him, so she left it alone.

After she was done making phone calls, Natasha brought up the internship. She hadn't gotten more than two words out before Cat interrupted.

"Can I go? _Pleeeeease_?" Cat gave her puppy dog eyes. She was a _master_ at making puppy dog eyes. "It's really good practice and Tony said I was smart and had a really good memory and talked to my teacher about eastern box turtles."

"What about eastern box turtles?"

Cat frowned. "Nat! Pay attention to the _question_."

"Did he say that he would be picking you up from school?"

Cat furrowed her brow in thought. "His exact words were, 'You could drop by the tower sometime.'" She widened her eyes at her, upping the doe eyes a few notches. "It's not far away, I could just walk."

"We'll figure out the details later. "

"Does that mean I can go?" she asked hopefully.

Natasha gave her a long stare before saying anything. "Fine, but if you lose a limb blowing up something, don't say I didn't warn you."

Cat internally fist pumped. "Yes!" She switched from her puppy dog eyes to an incredibly sweet smile. "Nat…"

She regarded her warily. "No."

"I didn't even say anything!"

"No, you can't keep the Stark phone. There's a reason why eight year olds don't have phones."

Cat stubbornly refused to give up the fight. "And that reason would be…?"

"Because I said so," Natasha said firmly, putting an end to the conversation. "You have about an hour before school starts. Now, go bother Clint. He's in the guest room."

* * *

The target was a stuffed giraffe that sat on the edge of the couch, its head lopsided on its neck. (Steve had picked it up at Target while he was going for a grocery run a few days earlier.) Cat poked her head out from the couch she was hiding behind and pointed her gun at the target. She aimed and pulled the trigger. The plastic blue bullet streaked across the living room and smacked into the giraffe so hard that it was knocked off of the couch.

Cat cheered. "That's ten points for me!"

"For the last time," Clint said, pretending to look annoyed, "Marty the giraffe is off limits. He is innocent and defenseless and it is _not okay_ to shoot him."

"You just shot Natasha's innocent defenseless _lamp_ and you said that it was in 'self defense.'"

Nerf bullets were scattered all over the living room and kitchen. Clint was teaching Cat how to aim accurately, and they were having a contest and had developed a point system. Clint was winning, obviously, but she was getting pretty good at it.

"Whatever, kid. No more shooting giraffes."

She smirked at him. "Watch me."

She fired off another shot, but Clint saw it coming. He pulled the trigger nearly at the same time. His bullet intercepted hers on the way to the giraffe and knocked it away from hitting his precious 'Marty.'

"That's cheating," Cat grumbled. "You're using your Hawkeye-ness against me."

"Isn't that the point?"

Cat couldn't think of a good comeback for that, so she said, "Bet you can't hit the light switch in the kitchen from here."

He fired off two shots, and the light from the kitchen briefly went dark before it flashed on again. He turned and gave her a smug smile. "Bet _you_ can't hit the corner of the TV from here."

Cat took aim. Her bullet _barely_ ricocheted off of the edge. She lifted her head over to where Natasha was taking another phone call. "Ha! Bet you can't shoot the phone out of Nat's _hand_ —"

Natasha promptly whirled around, a hand over her phone muffling the line, leveling the two with a Medusa stare. "If you shoot me or the phone, I will kill _both_ of you."

"I think that's enough practice for today," Clint said quickly, grabbing Cat's Nerf gun. "C'mon, let's clean up."

As they picked up bullets from the floor, Clint told her, "You're getting pretty good. Next time, I'll bring a bow and you can practice the real stuff."

Cat beamed, feeling her dimples sink into her cheeks. It was a new expression on her that she was quickly getting used to. Clint, Steve, and Natasha all seemed to genuinely like spending time together and with her. She was getting more and more comfortable around them, learning more information about them each day. For the first time in a long while, she felt like things finally clicked into place for her.

Nearing eight a.m., Nat told her that even though Tony Stark visited the house, made her pizza rolls, and gave her a Stark phone (that Natasha had confiscated) didn't change the fact that it was a school day and she still needed to go to school.

"But I'm _tired_ ," Cat said, even though she wasn't.

A deadpan stare told her that Nat had seen through her lie. (How did she _do_ that?)

"I _am_ tired! I woke up at four." To emphasize her point, Cat yawned widely.

"And who's fault is that?"

"Tony Stark's."

"Who's fault is it that they didn't go back to sleep right after?"

Cat folded her arms and leveled her best scowl at her.

"I don't understand why you hate school so much," Natasha said. "I mean, you'd be bored out of your mind if you stayed at home."

"And instead, I go to school and get bored out of my mind."

"Aw, look at that," Natasha gave her a big patronizing smile, which was the equivalent of patting her on the head and giving her a cookie. "You're already learning so much!"

* * *

At school, there was one subject everyone wanted to talk about.

"Was that _really_ Tony Stark at our school yesterday?"

"Why? What was he there for?"

"Maybe he's designing a new Iron Man suit! But for kids, so he needs a kid to experiment on!"

"That's stupid, Larry."

Most of the questions were directed at her because she was the one who Tony had picked up yesterday.

"Is it true that he let you enter his car?"

"Yeah, it is! My mom saw it and videoed it on her phone. What was it like? Did he have those mints that are wrapped by themselves, like they do in fancy cars?"

"Was he wearing his Iron Man suit?"

"Did he have a prototype for a kid-sized Iron Man suit in his car?"

"What's a prototype?"

If this was what it felt like to be a celebrity, to have a crowd of paparazzi shooting endless stream of questions while blinding you with bursts of light, then she certainly didn't envy Tony. Luckily, Mrs. Davies was able to shut them up by threatening the class with extra worksheets.

The day was supposed to be an easy day, with only two hours devoted to lessons and the rest of the time working on the class play they were going to out up for the talent show. But math class turned out to be a disaster.

It started in the middle of Mrs. Davies' lecture about multiplying fractions. There were advantages of sitting in the farthest group to the front. It meant that Mrs. Davies couldn't hear what they were saying if they talked quietly, so they could get away with more things. Logan was napping contentedly on his desk, head in his arms so that all that could be seen was his disheveled blond hair. Roxanne was multitasking by organizing her pencil case(she did things like that) while taking notes.

James leaned over to Cat's side of the desk and whispered, "C'mon, Cat, what really happened yesterday with Tony Stark?"

"I'd tell you," she started sweetly, "but it's really none of your business."

"Aw, c'mon, Cat! I know you haven't told anyone else, but we're friends!"

Friends. Clearly James had meant it in a lighthearted way, but Cat felt her walls slam down. The word made a shiver shoot up her spine. Friends? Weren't they just people who happened to sit at the same table in class? And occasionally, at lunch?

She had been quiet for too long. She was making a big deal out of nothing, just as usual. Luckily, Roxanne saved her from having to answer.

"Stop bothering her, J," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, eyes fixated on lining up her colored pencils in order of color coordination. Ever the golden girl.

James paid her no heed. "What did he want?"

"He just offered me a ride home, okay? He didn't want anything. End of story."

"That can't possibly be _it_!" James pressed. "Why did he do it? What did you guys talk about?"

"Let it go, James," Cat clipped. She felt annoyance bubbling under the surface. Her fingers thrummed a fast beat on the desk agitatedly. She felt more jittery than usual.

He sighed, defeated. "Fine."

"At least _pretend_ to work," Roxanne warned crossly, sneaking a glance near Mrs. Davies' desk. "Mrs. Davies is beginning to get suspicious. If I get in trouble because of you guys again—"

"Again?" James squawked in indignation. "Surely that's never happened before. Has it, Cat?"

"No, never," Cat said innocently, batting her eyelashes.

Roxanne rolled her eyes, hard, in a way that was both irritated and dignified. Her pink dusted eyelids fluttered with the effort.

Logan, who hadn't voice his opinion up to that point, lifted his head up an inch to snarl quietly, "I'm _sleeping_ , so be _quiet_."

"I was wondering how long the blissful silence from our dear friend would last," James sighed in sadness. "Good things don't last."

"Will you shut up for literally _two_ seconds?"

Even for his generally pissed off mood, Logan was being especially nasty that day. Cat was about to ask what was _his_ problem, but her eyes dropped to his face, which had a nasty bruise on it. Warning bells went off in her head when she realized that his shirt was covering up another strange bruise that was purple and black on his neck. When he turned their way, she glimpsed that it was the shape of a hand. A cold feeling washed over Cat. She recognized those injuries.

James mockingly mouthed the words, " _One, two,_ " in an annoyingly juvenile way, and then proceeded to say, "That okay for you, Loge?" He shot Cat a sharp grin.

Something dark flashed in Logan's eyes. "Don't call me that, Jamie."

"Don't call me Jamie. _Loge_ ," he added, squashing a grin at Logan's furious glare.

"Knock it off, both of you," Cat said distractedly, pretending to scribble down a few practice equations. She didn't need to take notes. She could multitask by talking and memorizing everything that Mrs. Davies was doing on the board. Most of which were concepts that she had learned in second grade.

Cat stopped pretending to take notes to glance over at Logan. Those bruises didn't come from falling down the stairs or landing weirdly. She thought up possibilities of ways he could have retained those bruises, but her mind kept on going to the dark place in her brain full of ideas that she didn't particularly want to explore.

Logan noticed her watching him, anger flaring up in his eyes like he was going to say something sharp. Cat didn't give him the satisfaction of breaking eye contact. Her fingers traced the spot on her neck where his bruise was. He turned back at her oddly, something like fear in his eyes. He lowered his eyes quickly, expressing sudden interest in the notes that he had neglected for the past two weeks.

James was watching their exchange. He had noticed him notice her notice the bruises, and his eyes widened in understanding. "Hey, Loge," he said with typical James tactfulness. Cat used her heel to stomp on his foot under the table, but he ignored her. "What's up with your face?"

Cat sighed and bent her head down, sensing an argument approaching and one of those lovely "behavioral warning" slips in her future.

"It's none of your business."

"It is my business."

"I said it's none of your business. Now stop talking, you retard."

Roxanne gasped.

By the expression on Logan's face, it was clear that he had no idea what that word meant. He had likely heard it from someone else. But the satisfaction on his face at James' furious expression was enough for Cat. She might have felt bad for him, but she didn't like the use of that word. She'd been in a foster family that had a son with disabilities once. He was the nicest kid she'd ever met, but no one had deserved the bullying he had endured for talking with a lisp and having a disproportionate face.

There was something dark in James' face. His hands curled into fists; He seemed on the verge of punching Logan. " _What_ did you just call me?"

"Retard," Logan repeated, an arrogant smile fixed on his face.

"Shut your mouth, Logan, or I'll do it for you," Cat hissed, seeing red for a brief second.

Logan's head jerked up at her, confusion settling into his features. An expression she read as easily as a book. He thought that she pitied him at first, which made it confusing because now she was angry at him. He was also slightly fearful of what he had said, because he had no idea of the degree of seriousness of his insult. He decided not to speak.

"Cat," Roxanne nudged her warningly, jutting her chin out at Mrs. Davies.

Too late. Mrs. Davies shot them a stern frown. "Table six. This is your last warning. One more and all of you are staying after class."

Roxanne reacted like she'd been burned with fire. Her dark hair nearly whacked Logan in the face as she turned to Mrs. Davies indignantly. "But— but Mrs. Davies!" she sputtered, eyes wild with the injustice of it all. "I wasn't talking!"

"I'm aware of what happened, Roxanne. Now, class, moving on…"

Roxanne glared at all of them. "This is _all_ your fault."

Logan shot James an unpleasant scowl, which James returned full on. He resumed their conversation as if Mrs. Davies had never spoken.

"Say what you called me again," James nearly snarled. "Say it."

His voice was low, not wanting to get caught by Mrs. Davies, but it was darker than anything Cat had heard him say before. She glanced at him warily. With his ruffled hair, square nerd glasses, and easy smile, she thought it seemed nearly impossible for him to look threatening. But the tone of voice he'd used wiped away every trace of the lighthearted tone he'd used to talk to Cat earlier.

Roxanne swapped glances with Cat, worried. She had stopped pretending to pay attention to her notes and was now watching James and Logan.

Logan wavered at the sight of James' face. He hadn't meant to start a fight, but now that he saw where it was headed, there was no way he was backing out. He wasn't going to present himself as a coward. Logan was no stranger to defending himself from fights. Cat had never noticed before, but she saw it then. It was in the way his weight shifted forward and his arms raised slightly as if he expected fists to fly at him.

(It was so slight that no one other than someone who knew what to search for would have noticed it. Cat was young, but she was scary good at reading someone's tone, face, and body language. When she was searching for the right clues, there was nothing anyone could hold back from her.)

 _Gee, confident much?_

"Jamie, you. Are. A. Big. Fat. Retard. Re-tard."

James was shaking with fury. "If you use that word again, I'm going to break your face."

They had been talking in low voices before, but James was unable to control himself from saying it a few notches under a shout. Everyone's heads turned to Table 6. Most of the students were wide-eyed. Mrs. Davies was halted mid lecture and clearly not happy about it, but too slow to interrupt Logan's comeback.

"Did I hurt your feelings or something?"

Roxanne jabbed Cat in the shoulder. Hard.

"Ow," she complained.

"Do something!"

"What should I do?"

"I don't know, stop this before it gets worse!"

"Why can't _you_ do something?"

"Because you're better at doing things!"

While they were arguing, James suddenly flew at Logan, fists flying. She didn't know what to do, so she operated on autopilot. She pulled James back into his seat. He struggled but she held him down.

But seeing how mad James was struck a chord of realization in Cat. She realized she knew exactly what she needed to do. She had seen the same unfocused anger in Uncle Kyle. It was like he was a puppet on a string, uncontrolled with rage, wanting to destroy everything in his path.

So she punched him in the shoulder. It wasn't the hardest she could punch, but enough for James to recoil and look at her in pain and betrayal.

"Cat, ow!" James' fury switched from Logan to Cat. "What was that for?"

At the same time, Roxanne exclaimed, "Cat! That is _not_ helping!"

She threw Rox a cross expression. "This is what happens when you tell me to _do something_."

James looked like he was about to start pummeling Logan again. Lightning fast, she punched him again in the same spot, even harder than she had before.

"OW!" James said, and glared at her with rage filled eyes. Roxanne moved to help, but when she caught sight of the expression on his face, she backed off.

"Snap out of it, James!" she said, gripping his shoulders and shaking them with no gentleness whatsoever.

He glowered at her, his anger flickering. "Then you stop punching me!"

It was good that they were sitting at an isolated table in the very back of the classroom. Cat was distantly aware that Mrs. Davies' voice was growing closer and ordering her to stop or something or the like, but she kept her attention fixed on James.

"Listen, you can kill him later," she told him, speaking quick and low so that no one watching could hear her, "just not now." She steadied his shoulder as he took several deep breaths, still glaring furiously at Logan and looking like he was seconds away from standing back up and ripping Logan's throat out.

His eyes had a fixed determination, focusing directly on Logan. Cat was thankful that there were two desks separating them. Logan was regarding at James with a regretful glint in his eyes, even as he was raising his fists up, ready to fight.

Cat thought the fight was over, but James stood up quickly. "No, I want to kill him now."

Cat yanked him down and before she could punch him again, Mrs. Davies was there, pulling her out of her seat. For a woman who wore flower dresses, her grip was like iron. It didn't hurt, but Cat couldn't wrench her arm free of the grasp.

"Cat, you are going to go to the principal's office. There is _no_ excuse for manhandling another student."

Cat was too surprised to answer. Why was _she_ going to the principal's office when she was the one stopping James and Logan from brawling in the classroom? Couldn't she see that James was seconds away from leaping at Logan and ripping his throat out? What was _wrong_ with her?

James had paused, alarm in his gaze. Some of the fight had diminished from his eyes. "Wait, Mrs. Davies, Cat was trying to stop me from punching Logan!"

Cat widened her eyes at him. Was he defending her?

Mrs. Davies nodded curtly. "Which is why you are going to the principal's office as well."

Logan remained sullenly quiet, examining his hands. James was opening fuming, but Mrs. Davies said, "Now." James' hands were fisted, and his jaw was tight, but he marched to the door with stomping steps without sparing Logan or anyone else a glance.

Cat spoke up. "Logan was the one who started it. He called James a retard."

"Tattle," Logan mumbled.

"Name-caller," she shot back. "Call it what you want. I call it 'stating facts.'" Cat faced Mrs. Davies boldly. "And I didn't do anything wrong. The only thing I did was stop them from fighting, so, you're welcome."

Mrs. Davies looked like she was steaming from the ears, so she pointed at Logan and then said, "Principal's office." Logan sent Cat a scorching glare, but left the classroom. Mrs. Davies nodded at Cat. "You as well."

Cat turned back to Mrs. Davies defiantly, arms crossed. She didn't budge an inch for a whole five seconds to express the fact that she was only doing it because she wanted to, not because she was ordered to. Then she spun on her heel and followed after Logan.

James was waiting for her outside the door. Logan had marched right past him, barely looking at him, and was now about ten or twelve steps ahead of the two. Cat started walking, and James fell into step with her. The fury and fight she'd seen in his eyes seconds before had completely vanished, replaced by the same carefree, light disposition that he always had.

"Sorry," he apologized abruptly. "I kinda got… weird back there."

"Is that what you call weird?" she demanded. "You completely freaked."

James found the ground extremely interesting, unwilling to broach the subject. "I shouldn't have gotten angry at you. You shouldn't have gotten in trouble. You were just trying to help me." He paused, trying to find a reaction in her face.

Cat stared at him, gauging his features for sincerity. He was being completely honest. He had a perfectly good reason to get mad at Logan for using the word, and another good reason to be mad at Cat for unreasonably punching him. But instead, he was apologetic. She knew that if their positions were switched, she wouldn't have said sorry because she wouldn't have been remorseful.

Instead of responding to his apology, she said, "Sorry for punching you. Did it hurt?"

He rubbed his shoulder and winced. "What do you think? You hit hard."

"Yeah, I've been told."

There was a lapse of silence before James spoke up again. "What do you think Mr. Nelson's going to do to us?"

Cat sighed. She had been in this situation a couple of times. "First, he'll give us the 'I'm disappointed, you know better speech' first. We're probably getting one of those behavioral warning things, and then staying after school to be subjected to free labor for the teachers. Organizing papers or something."

"Or cleaning the toilets," he said with a half smile.

She made a face. "Gross. At least you'll have it worse. Girls are cleaner than boys."

"That's so not true."

"Is too."

They turned a corner. Cat jerked her head up at Logan's back to them.

"Why were you so mad back there?" she asked bluntly. "I've never seen you like that."

"I try not to," he said quietly. "But the word Logan called me— Mom calls it one of my 'trigger words.' It hasn't happened in a long time, but just got so mad…"

Cat couldn't stop herself from asking, "What happened?"

She wanted to slap herself the moment the words left her mouth. _Stupid!_

James promptly stopped walking, hands clenched at his sides. Cat slowed with him. He looked up, and she met his gaze unflinchingly. He started talking, the words coming out fast. "My older brother, John, died last year. He had cancer and he was autistic. He bullied a lot because he was—" He swallowed like there was something caught in his throat, preventing from getting the words out. "He was what Logan called me. A _retard_."

The bitterness in his voice clearly wasn't directed at his dead brother. He was staring directly at the back of Logan's head like he was about to throw a dagger in it.

Cat blinked, not expecting it. She was torn between touched and horrified that he had chosen her of all people to confide in such a personal matter. No one had ever confided in such a private secret with her. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

"So yeah," he finished with his voice shaking, wiping furiously at his eyes. He was trying to seem nonchalant about it, but she could tell it was a sore wound. "Whenever I hear someone say it, I just go kind of…"

"You Hulk out," she said without thinking. The words just came to her. They seemed right. She had no idea why she chose _those_ words as her words of comfort, but James seemed to find it funny.

He came close to a smile, although his eyes were shiny. "It sounds cooler when you say it like that."

She smiled back at him. "It's one of my many talents."

James stopped smiling and resumed walking, his eyes glued to his shoes. Cat let the silence drag out a little longer before speaking.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." Her voice was a few notches above a whisper.

He blinked hard. "Don't be. Saying that isn't going to bring him back." His words sounded worn and practiced. It sounded like he was quoting something that had been said to him many times before.

"I'm not talking to him. I'm talking to you, James. So, I'm sorry."

After a pause, he gave her a weak smile. Cat was a little impressed that he had it in him to do so. It occurred to her that they all dealt with their pain in different ways. Logan hid it with a scowl, by keeping himself isolated from others. James hid it with a mask of humor. Truthfully, Cat was a little jealous of him. He was able to convince everyone that he wasn't dealing with pain. He was so positive and light, bursting with energy.

"Thanks," James said gratefully.

She nodded at him. Something told her that she wasn't supposed to say anything else. They were walking in a bubble, a bubble so fragile that if she said anything to shatter the silence, she would pop it. So she copied his example and remained quiet for the remainder of the walk to the principal's office.

When they reached the principal's office, they faced Mr. Nelson. Cat was spot-on with her prediction. He first rambled about how they "knew better" and had to learn how to "get along not just as classmates, but as friends." Cat was willing to bet he had recycled the same speech for every student that had walked through the door under the same circumstances. Then he gave them all the stupid behavioral warnings and told them that they had to stay after school for a week to help Mrs. Davies with her teacher things.

They returned to class to find them working on character analysis for the characters in the play. Mrs. Davies was determined to turn their talent show play into a learning experience. Tomorrow, she told the class, she would decide who got what part. Cat slogged through the rest of the day. She finished her character analysis essay. She aced a spelling test. She listened to Alex go on and on about some exciting new invention at lunch, nodding and picking at her food moodily while exchanging the occasional eye roll with Roxanne.

At the end of the day, the only activity left to do was a group worksheet. But things got a little awkward between them. James would speak loudly to Cat and Roxanne, pointedly ignoring Logan. Logan muttered something about working on it himself, but he would keep on sneaking remorseful looks at them. Roxanne tried to stay upbeat and positive throughout it all with no avail. They ended up working on it separately.

Lucky for them, once school was over, Mrs. Davies had a doctor's appointment, so their after school labor would start the next day. As Cat put on her backpack and prepared to leave, Logan pulled her aside. She kind of wanted to punch him to make herself feel better.

Then he had the nerve to say, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes. You just did. Bye." She started to walk away.

"Wait, Cat!"

He grabbed her hand, sending an alarm off in her brain. She whirled around on impulse, shaking his hand off hers. Logan looked a little embarrassed, which was more emotion than his usual "tired, grumpy, and/or pissed off." It was a little hard to stay angry at him when he looked so miserable with his black eye and his sad, kicked-puppy face.

"What?" she snapped, maybe a little more harsh than she was aiming for.

"I just need a second, okay?"

"You have five. Go."

"Can you tell James that I'm sorry?" he pleaded desperately. "Because I really am. I feel really bad for calling him, you know… that." He shifted, clearly out of his depth.

"You mean a _retard_?"

He winced. "Yeah, that."

She was tempted to turn back on him right then, but she'd never seen Logan like this. His tone had been so genuine and apologetic when he asked Cat to apologize for him, there was no way he could have been faking.

"Do you even know what that word means?"

"Something bad, obviously. Look, can you just tell him I'm sorry?"

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

"I've tried!" He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's just, he won't look at me or talk to me."

"Well, why would he?" she scoffed. "You haven't exactly been Mr. Nice Guy recently. Or _ever_ , now that I think about it."

"He listens to you, you're his friend." For the second time in one day, an involuntary shiver ran down her spine at the word. Logan continued, not noticing the alarm that passed her face. "Can you just tell him that I'm sorry? Or to talk to me?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'll tell him to talk to you, but you have to tell him that you're sorry."

"I will," he said, with the most sincere tone of voice Cat had heard him take. He seemed hesitant as he asked, "Cat… do you know why he got so mad? I mean, it's just a word, right?"

She regarded at him for a long moment. Cat had never heard him say more than a few irritable words at a time, and this display of emotion and language startled her a little. Lots of things had surprised her that day. She didn't think that Logan was capable of feeling sorry for someone. She certainly didn't think that he would ask _her_ to talk to James. It wasn't her place to tell him about James' situation, but she also didn't want him to stay ignorant on the subject.

"If you want to know so bad, ask him yourself when you apologize."

A hopeful look rose to his face. Once again, Cat found herself experiencing surprise at it. He looked nothing like the Logan she knew. The lack of a scowl changed his face completely. "Does that mean you'll tell him?"

" _Yes_ ," she said impatiently. "I already told you that." A thoughtful look came into her eyes. "But under one condition."

Wariness entered his gaze. "Sure."

"You tell me how you got that bruise."

Logan touched his black eye, his face making a swift return to its usual scowl. He suddenly looked ten times more guarded. "This?"

Cat was well aware that it wasn't her business to ask. It was unfair to be asking this of him in the first place. But she was curious to how he would respond. "Yeah. And the one on your neck."

He looked more uncomfortable than angry. "I, uh… fell."

She looked at him, unimpressed. "Lame excuse. Who gave it to you?"

"No one," he said defensively. Coat could see the cogs in his brain turning as he fumbled for a quick, believable lie. "I told you, I fell. Into a rosebush by my apartment. There are loads of them there, my brother pushed me into one. You know how it is, siblings and all that."

"I don't, actually," she said coolly. "So it was your brother that punched you."

"Not my brother."

"So you admit that someone punched you, then?"

He was too slow to deny it. The horror on his face confirmed it.

"Next time," she advised him, "punch back."

"I—"

"See you tomorrow, Logan."


	22. Chapter 22: Chasing Nightmares

The moment Cat stepped through the door, she was aware of two things: One, Natasha was sitting on the couch, home from work early. Two, there was something pissing her off.

Before she got the chance to ask where it was, Taco, who was being stroked on Natasha's lap, jumped off. The dog leaped into Cat's arms, who managed to drop the keys in order to catch the wriggling mass of fur.

"Hiya there, girl," Cat muttered into Taco's fur.

Taco barked and licked her face, tail wagging in happiness like it was the first time she'd seen her in years.

"Huh, you're happy to see me. I've only been gone since breakfast."

Natasha cleared her throat pointedly. Cat set Taco down, the dog whining disappointedly in an adorable way.

"Um, hey," Cat greeted, shutting the door closed with her foot. "Why are you early? Did something happen?"

Natasha didn't look pleased. "I got a call from your principal today."

Taco, who had the uncanny ability to sense that something was wrong, intelligently retreated from the scene to go into the kitchen.

 _Quick, play dumb!_ Cat's mind went.

"What principal?"

She did the mental version of banging her head against a wall. _Not_ that _dumb!_

Natasha looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Who do you think? The principal of your school."

Cat cursed in her head. She nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Ohh! _That_ principal. I thought you were talking about… uh, a different principal." She slammed her head into the metaphorical wall again. "Wait, why would he call you?"

"Hmm, I don't know," Natasha said in a _I wonder why_ voice. She crossed her arms. "Why don't you take a guess."

It wasn't so much as a request as an order. Cat weighed her options. There was no point in lying if Mr. Nelson had told her everything. She must have taken too long hesitating, because Natasha interrupted her thinking before she could decide what to say.

"Mr. Nelson said that you got in a fight with a few of your classmates."

"It was hardly a fight," Cat scoffed, then got mad for exposing herself so quickly. "And for the record, I was trying to stop them from fighting."

"Did you or did you not punch someone?"

"Maybe a little."

"Cat," she sighed, a bit of her anger giving away to exasperation, "you can't just go around punching people when they make you upset." Nat had never used the condescending adult tone on her before, but it made her scowl.

"I was not 'going around punching people,' and I was not upset. I was _stopping_ two people who were going to punch each other."

"Do you decided to punch someone instead of getting the teacher?"

Cet threw her hands up. She knew that she had done nothing wrong, but she wasn't sure how to put it into words that would make Nat understand. "But it _worked_!" she retorted hotly. "Why are you acting like I just murdered someone? Punching people around is basically your job! Hell, _murdering_ people is your job!"

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she felt like she had overstepped. She hadn't meant the words in a mean way. She just wanted to get her point across. But in doing so she had crossed a line. Natasha's hazel-green eyes turned dark and dangerous, and for a moment Cat got the feeling that this was how all of her targets felt before she snapped their necks. She took a step back and was about to apologize despite not knowing how, before Natasha spoke.

She looked like she was about to say something biting, then shook her head. Her tone was cold. "Don't turn this on me, Cat. Your teacher also mentioned that you acted disrespectful and showed defiance while she was sending you to the office."

Cat couldn't believe this. _Showed defiance?_ She had the right to be defiant, after what Mrs. Davies had done! She initially thought that Mrs. Davies might be pretty okay, but after hearing this, she was starting to get irritated with her. Not only did the teacher send her to the office after she did nothing wrong, she then proceeded to tattle on her. That was so not cool.

"I was giving her the treatment she was giving me," she insisted stubbornly.

"She is your teacher." Natasha pronounced every letter like she was trying to get through to Cat's head. "Unlike you, she has a degree. She's allowed to speak down to you if you do something wrong. But that doesn't mean you treat her the same way."

"So what you're trying to tell me is— Because she has a degree, I should listen to whatever she tells me to do?"

"That's not what I said."

"I'm confused," Cat said. "Are you mad at me because I punched someone or because I didn't do what Mrs. Davies asked?"

"I'm not mad at you—"

"Doesn't seem that way."

"I'm just—"

"Disappointed. Right. Where have I heard that before?"

"Stop interrupting me." Natasha's voice was still calm and steady, but her eyes flared with annoyance.

"Don't tell me to do things."

Cat wasn't sure why she was acting so oddly. She knew that she was being irrationally angry and irritating. She was angry that she had gotten in trouble in the first place, and she was angry that Natasha wasn't letting her tell her side of the story. She was angry and she wanted to be as annoying as possible.

"Go upstairs."

It was disturbing close to _go to your room_ , which was a classic foster phrase. _Go upstairs_ was less maternal and more like an order.

A muscle feathered in Cat's jaw. She was feeling angry, frustrated, and a bit out of her depth. She felt like she and Natasha were communicating in different languages.

For a few seconds, the two faced off in a battle of glares. Cat was the first to look away, clenching her teeth. She wasn't going to go, at least not without the last word.

"I don't regret anything I did, and you aren't going to make me think I do."

She stormed off upstairs, still wearing her shoes and her backpack. Once she was in her room, she slammed the door and threw herself onto her bed. She was aware of how much she was acting like a moody teenager despite _not_ being a teenager, but she was at the point of not caring.

She buried her face into her pillow, closing her eyes and listening hard for sound downstairs. There was none. She felt the thump of her heart against her bed sheets, the adrenaline racing through her. She felt the constant need for movement, to be in action, but forced herself to stay still.

She practiced something that calmed her. She held her breath as long as possible, to the point where her chest was feeling painful, then let it all out into the pillow. She repeated the process five times, until she was calm enough. Then the memory of the words that had tumbled from her mouth earlier came back to her.

A sick feeling wormed her way into her stomach, eerily similar to guilt. What had she done?

* * *

Cat felt like punching herself.

Repeatedly.

She was well aware that she and Natasha had made the argument into a bigger thing than it was supposed to be. She kept on thinking about how it had all gone so wrong, so quickly. She was unsure of how something so little and insignificant had spiraled into a big argument in such a short time.

The words exchanged kept on playing over and over in her head, like a loop button that she couldn't undo. She recalled the exact pitch and tone that they sounded like. She could hardly keep herself from cringing every time she heard her voice. The more she listened to it, the more she felt like she had acted like a stupid insolent child. She didn't regret anything that she had done in the classroom, but she did want to take back some of the things she had said.

She was awful. She had acted just like like spoiled rich brats who acted like they owned the world that she had lived with when she was still in the system.

With nothing to distract her from the thoughts, they just kept playing over and over in her head.

 _Just go outside and apologize_ , the voice in Cat's head suggested. _It can't get worse than it already is._

But every time she imagined the situation, it ended with either awkwardness, rejection, or both. Not to mention the humiliation. She couldn't bring herself to do it. She'd just wait for Natasha to come up, say that it was all a misunderstanding.

She didn't come. Seconds spun into minutes. Minutes of doing nothing, lying facedown on her bed.

To an ADHD kid, it was torture and satisfaction at the same time. She felt her ADHD itch at her, getting antsy of lying there doing nothing for so long. It was her way of punishing herself for saying all those things. The argument had exhausted her, but the memories kept her from drifting off to sleep.

Taco, the ever loyal dog, pawed and scratched at the door(a habit which Natasha would complain incessantly), and became so frustrating that Cat finally let her in. The dog joined her in her bed, settling in close to her in an adorable way. It was so thoughtful and human like that Cat thought, she didn't deserve it.

How had someone horrible like her gotten so lucky with animal companions?

Cat didn't know what Natasha was doing. Nat hadn't checked up on her, two hours since the argument. She hadn't heard a sound that confirmed that Natasha was still in the house. She briefly wondered if she had gone somewhere and left Cat inside by herself, but dismissed the thought. She would have heard it if the garage door opened.

It hurt more than Cat wanted to admit to herself. She wished that there would be a knock at her door, a voice of apology, just so she could passively aggressively ignore it and make herself feel better.

She was horrible person, she knew.

Cat contemplated escaping out the window. Something to distract her from her thoughts. Then she imagined Natasha's reaction after finding out that she was gone, and shuddered. No, it was better not to antagonize her. Not too soon, at least.

With the dead silence and the guilt weighing down her heart, she felt lonely. She yearned for Steve or Clint or Alex. Just someone who would listen to her and keep her company. She wasn't good at expressing her thoughts and feelings— old habit after being so independent for so long— but she just wanted someone to talk to. Anything, really, to deflect her mind from the argument. Maybe even Roxanne, now that she thought about it.

She did her best to distract herself from the guilt. She went on a Youtube binge watch, watching everything from adorable animal compilations to watching people order everything at a fast food restaurant. She sketched a beautiful palm tree that was originally not supposed to be a palm tree. She tried to teach Taco new tricks. She even went as far as do finish her homework.

It was 6-something, and Natasha still hadn't came up to check on her, on say anything. That just made Cat more determined to not give her the satisfaction. She didn't come down for dinner, despite her growling stomach— she hadn't eaten much at lunch.

Cat didn't come out, and Nat didn't come in.

It was a few minutes before eleven, bored out of her freaking mind, when she curled up with her dog and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 _It started off as a normal dream._

 _She was stuck in the middle of a busy intersection, and her hair blew in her face as cars rushed around her._

 _The sound of the New York street was heavily muffled, like she was underwater. Street lights changed from red to yellow to green, and the buzz and vibrations under her feet from the cars were strangely nice. She felt distantly calm and relaxed._

 _Then a busy taxi driver nearly collided into her, and she realized she was freaking going to get killed._

 _Her adrenaline spiked. She tried to jar her legs into movement, but found that her sneakers were stuck to the pavement._

 _This was one freaky dream, she thought as she tried to get them out._

 _Thing was, her shoes weren't just stuck— they had been_ consumed _by the pavement. She was sinking. Instead of solid ground below her, there was a thick, lava-like liquid that was swallowing her up like quicksand. The quicksand-cement quickly rose to her ankles, and she was starting to feel the pressure._

 _New York traffic was continuing as usual. She was the only one sinking into the ground. A car raced past her, so close that she could feel it, and the side mirror knocked into her elbow, sending pain racing through her arm. She looked down and saw blood._

 _Like, what the actual heck._

 _The cement was at her knees._

 _She pushed away the urge to just lie back, just for a second. She lifted her arms away to keep them from being sucked into whatever the cement was made of._

 _She opened her mouth to say something,_ anything _, but nothing came out. She couldn't speak. Her throat closed, and she found herself unable to breathe. A monster had tightened its hand around her throat and it wasn't letting go. She tried to suck in air and failed miserably, the only result being a tightening in her chest._

 _Why did her lungs suddenly suck as being lungs?_

 _One of the cars had stopped. The driver got out. The rest of the cars disappeared. No more traffic, no more street lights, just… nothing. They didn't vanish into nonexistence, or poof in a light sprinkling of fairy dust. One moment they were there. The next… poof._

 _It was just her and the driver standing in the middle of an intersection. As the driver got closer, revealing their face, she realized that they looked vaguely familiar… Was is possible that…?_

 _She felt a huge amount of relief slam into her. The monster that was gripping her throat instantly released. She gulped in air, hardly able to believe it. It was Natasha. Natasha would save her. She was the Black Widow. She could do anything._

 _But the expression on Natasha's face made her relief sink like a stone. The red haired woman only glared at her coldly, contempt filling the hard lines of her face. Natasha had never looked at her that way before, not even when she was really, really mad. This Natasha was unrecognizable._

 _The monster seized control of her lungs again, and apparently her heart too, because it felt like it was made of lead. She could breathe, but it was shaky and unsteady._

 _The cement had risen up to her shoulders._

 _She could no longer feel the beat of her heart. She was getting weak with lack of oxygen and didn't bother putting up a struggle._

 _She couldn't seem to take her eyes off of Natasha. She was striding with a purpose, putting less space between them. She was walking_ on _the quicksand-cement Jesus-style. She stopped when she was a foot away, watching her suffer and silently beg with merciless cruelty._

 _She had to tilt her head up to look at Natasha now, because the cement was rising to her chin and the monster had full control of her lungs._

Do something, _she shouted at Natasha internally._ Don't just stand there, DO SOMETHING!

 _The woman just watched her with those cold eyes, nothing showing that she heard the silent pleas._

 _She heard the woman's bitter, hard voice in her head._ You deserve this.

 _The speed of the quicksand-cement started increasing with a new vigor, and the cold, unrecognizable woman ascended with it._

 _It reached her mouth, then her nose— it tasted and smelled worse than it looked like something burning— and then her eyes—_

Cat's eyes flashed open alarmingly. Her lungs filled with cold air, and for a second she forgot to exhale. She let it loose in one shaky blow.

"You're fine," she lied to herself. "You're fine."

The time on the alarm clock was blurry. Spots of light and darkness danced before her. It took a second to realize that her cheeks were wet with tears. She felt oddly dizzy and disoriented.

She brushed the tears off her cheeks. The time on the alarm clock focused after a bit of staring. It blinked 12:56 a.m. She'd gotten— what, two hours of sleep? Not bad considering her track record.

In one clumsy movement, she tore the blanket off of her and stumbled to her feet. She walked towards the door and yanked it open. The hallway was as dark as her room, making her feel like she was stepping into a dark void of nothingness, but she stepped forward.

She mindlessly made her way downstairs and into the kitchen. Cat reached for the secret cabinet under the sink that Natasha didn't know she knew about and pulled out the container of Starbucks coffee. She dumped it into a coffee machine, poured some water, and pressed the right buttons. Next, her growling stomach took her to the fridge, where she assembled sandwich-making materials.

At that point she was fully operating on autopilot. One half of her mind kept wandering back to her dream, and the events of the past several hours, but never seemed to focus on anything for too long to take it all in. Her mind was hazy and blank with sleep deprivation.

The light of the fridge made her wince, so she closed her eyes and felt around blindly for the right ingredients. She pulled out two pieces of bread… lettuce… packaged meat of some sort… They had run out of cheese, Steve said he would stop by the grocery store but then got swept up in some kind of thing. She pulled out a tomato, before remembering that she hated tomatoes with her life and soul, and put it back in the fridge. Then the coffee maker beeped.

She was sitting at the dinner table with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, surrounded by complete darkness, staring at the opposite wall. The sandwich was sitting on a plate, untouched. Her stomach protested, but she had lost her appetite.

Side effects of having perfect recall: she remembered every dream she had ever had, some of which were painful past memories that she'd rather not revisit.

She didn't even want to think about the dream. About what it might mean. She remembered the feeling of cement rising to her throat, and touched her bare neck to remind herself that it wasn't real.

She didn't want to think about the dream she'd had, so she used what she called her Forget Method. It didn't _really_ make her forget— just tune out the world for a few seconds. She stared at the wall and thought of absolutely nothing. She pictured herself in a blank white background, doing nothing but staring at the blank white background, and thought of nothing.

She wasn't sure how long she spent sitting in the darkness, not drinking her coffee, not doing anything but thinking of nothing.

Her thoughts kept on wandering back to Dream Natasha's eyes, that cold and unfeeling part of them, and she felt a lump rise in her throat again. She remembered the argument they'd had just a few hours before, and thought, _You deserve this._

Natasha.

Nat, who Cat insisted on calling "Romanoff" when she had first gotten here. Nat, who had organized her birthday when Cat herself had forgotten it. Nat, who did odd things like tousling Cat's hair and drinking her coffee bitter and black. Nat, who was the infamous Black Widow and was a master at disguise and could kill a man with her pinky toe—

 _Punching and murdering people is basically your job!_

Her words came back to her.

She probably hated Cat by now. If only she hadn't helped James and Logan in the first place, and then she wouldn't even be in this mess.

She left her undrunk cup of coffee, which had then turned cold, at the table and headed to the bathroom. She turned on the lights, flinching when she was blinded by it, and gazed at herself in the mirror. Another method she'd taught herself. She looked at every line of her face, inspecting every emotion she was showing and masking it until she looked calm and relaxed as can be. Bored, even.

She pointed a finger at her reflection. Then she lowered it because she felt ridiculous.

"You are not," she told her reflection firmly, "going to cry." She was better than that. Stronger than that.

Her reflection stared back at her, looking drained and exhausted and totally about to cry.

Cat gritted her teeth and fought it.

She closed her eyes and willed the tears back. After a while, they went away. Her breathing evened out. She took her hands off of the sink. They had imprints in them from the sink's edges digging into them. She splashed her face with water and tried for a grin.

Her face felt unused to smiling.

Taco was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. She stood on her back legs and placed her paws on Cat's knees. It was nice to know that at least her dog cared about her, even though she probably had no idea what Cat was going through.

Cat rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, collapsing on the couch. Taco followed loyally, jumping on the couch and finding a position that was comfortable. It was the second night in a row she had been woken up before getting more than five hours of sleep, and she was barely functioning. Despite that, she didn't feel like going back to sleep. Nightmares awaited her on her bed, and she wasn't excited to get back to that.

She turned the TV on to the lowest volume and landed on a channel that featured animated penguins routinely going down a slide and speaking to each other in annoying squeaky voices.

"Perfect," Cat said, and immersed herself in the land of animated penguins. Looks like she'd be crashing there for the night.


	23. Chapter 23: Logan

The curious thing was that Cat could never commit herself to anything.

Ten minutes later she was roaming the streets of Manhattan, the cool air hitting her face feeling wildly free and exhilarated.

To put it nicely, the animated penguins channel sucked. Not five minutes into watching it, she was grabbing the remote to turn it off. One of the animated penguin's name was Jacques, and that pissed her off for some reason. What penguin parent names their penguin kid Jacques?

Dumb penguin parents, that's who.

And she refused to watch an animated world that encouraged the beliefs of dumb penguin parenting.

Or maybe she just really wanted to go outside instead of being cooped up.

It was December, so a light snow was covering everything and Christmas lights were out. Seeing the Christmas decorations made her feel happy and in the holiday spirit. There was barely anyone out and roaming about. She'd gotten some strange glances from the few people that were, but no one asked any questions. After all, these were the type of people who went out at 2 a.m. and walked around, so who were they to judge?

She was still in her flannel pyjamas, wearing a heavy coat that reached her thighs, had her keys jingling in her pocket. It was cold enough to see her breath in front of her face, but her cheeks were so numb that she didn't care. She was holding onto a leash that Taco was straining against. The dog hated the damn leash. She skipped and hummed Christmas carols as Taco dragged her though the streets.

"Slow down there, girl," Cat said, laughing in breathless huffs. Taco responded by tugging her further, making her jog blocks in order to keep up.

She pulled Taco's leash, and the dog came to a stop. She stopped by an alley in a sad crumbling brownstone to catch her breath. That was when she heard the voices.

No, not in her head— she hadn't gone that crazy. They were coming from in the alley, and quite near her.

"You'd better not make a sound, boy. You know what will happen if you do," the first voice slurred.

It was deep and raspy and distinctly drunk-sounding, yet still held a flare of menace. There was a slight Southern drawl to it, making him sound like a mean Texas cowboy. Loud enough for her to hear, and male— he must have thought that no one would be stopping by to hear him.

"Please," a younger voice whispered, with a sort of strangled sob, "no."

The voice sounded was also male, young, and oddly familiar. Something about how the way he sounded, the way he pronounced his letters.

There was the sound of a bottle shattering against the ground. Cat's fingers went white on Taco's leash. "What did I say about making a sound?" he roared.

Cat's heart felt heavy. She got a flash of déja vu, and saw what was coming before she heard it. Sure enough, there was a dull sound of flesh against flesh, the unmistakable noise of a punch. The younger voice gasped, whimpering. Cat fought the urge to run away as fast as possible. Not that she could anyhow— her feet were bolted to the ground. She had lost the ability to move.

"I'm sorry!" the young voice gasped. "I wasn't—"

"Shut up, you useless excuse for a human being!" Another loud slapping noise. Taco whimpered and the sound. "I didn't give you permission to talk!"

Cat's eyes widened in horror. What could she do? She couldn't just leave the boy in the hands of an abusive man. At the same time, she doubted she could stop the matter without making it worse. If only she had the Stark phone Stark had given her, so she could call someone.

"I got a call from your school today," the man continued, "and you got in a fight. Is that how me and your mother have raised you?" Another punch. "To get into fights? To disrespect your teachers?" Another blow. "Do you have any idea how your actions affect us? I had to explain to my boss why I had to pick you up from school early!" Another one. "You made me look like an idiot today."

"Didn't mean—"

"You're such a waste of space!"

The words ignited fire in Cat. Without thinking of what she was about to do, she was typing Taco's leash to a pole. The next moment, she was leaping into the alley and shouting.

"Stop hurting him!"

A hulking mass of a man was holding a boy to the wall. He turned to look at Cat, and she got a good look at his profile. He had a beer gut, a scary white scar that ran from his nose to his chin, and had a mess of blond hair that looked like spaghetti after being barfed up by a dog. His blue eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, staring at a spot right next to Cat's head. There was vomit on his shirt and stains on his pants.

The boy's head was flopping up and down as the man shook him. He seemed to be only half conscious. The man dropped him at the sight of Cat, and he fell to the ground on his knees and gasped for air.

"What did you say to me?" the drunk man demanded to the spot next to Cat's head.

"I told you to stop," she shot back rudely. "You think beating on a kid four times smaller than you is okay?"

"Don't tell me what to do, girl. This kid happens to be my son. I can do whatever the frick I want with him." (He didn't say frick.) The man looked at Cat with searching eyes. She didn't like how the drunken intensity of how his eyes raked over her. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here so late at night, anyway?"

"Don't call me pretty," she warned. "And it's none of your business."

The boy lifted his head at the sound of her voice. "Cat? That you?"

The man and Cat both turned to look at his bruised face, equally as shocked as each other.

Cat inhaled sharply. "Logan?"

The pieces clicked into place. The bruises, the pain in his eyes. She had already known what the puzzle was, but now the picture was clearer. Logan had been dealing with something much, much worse than what she had initially thought. She'd told him to punch back. Now she saw why he'd been so reluctant. She could see the crazy in his father's eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," he told her.

"This isn't right. You should've told someone, Logan."

Logan shook his head adamantly at her, eyes flicking to his father. She saw some of Logan's old anger return to his eyes. "I won't tell. I won't tell anyone."

This seemed more directed to his father than to her.

"Damn right you aren't!" The man, Logan's father, seized a fistful of his shirt and yanked him to his feet. Logan stumbled and grabbed the wall to stay upright. "You know this girl from school, Logan?"

"I guess," Logan muttered, staring at the ground.

His father shook him very hard. "Look at me when you talk to me!"

Cat didn't know what was scaring her more. The violence Logan's father was exhibiting, or the helpless way Logan raised his eyes.

"Stop manhandling him! He's a person, not an object!"

"It's not your goddamn business, girl. Don't tell me how to treat my son," Logan's father said without sparing her a glance. He shook his son again. "Well?"

Logan looked up at him with disoriented blue eyes. "Yes, I know her from school."

"That's better, isn't it?" The man released Logan, letting the boy stagger backwards into the wall. He looked at Cat threateningly.

"Listen, girl, and listen good—"

"It's listen well, not good," she snarked. "And FYI, my name isn't girl."

His arm was a blur, hitting her in the face so hard that she felt her neck crack. "Do I look like a care?"

Cat recomposed herself, pain overtaking her anger. She refrained from rubbing the spot where he's struck her. She could feel it heating up, stinging painfully. She forced himself to meet Logan's father's eyes. They were the exact same blue as Logan's.

"Leave her out of this," Logan said quietly, to her surprise. "She has nothing to do with this."

"Did I ask you?" his father demanded. He whirled around and punched him in the face so hard that Logan crumpled to the ground and did not move.

Cat was trembling with fury. "Is that how you treat your son?"

"He doesn't deserve to be called my son!" Logan's father hiccuped, eyes clouding with tipsiness. He pushed Cat into the opposite wall. Her heart was pounding against her chest like a snare drum, seeing what this man was capable of. She could smell the beer on his breath. "And you're not going to tell anyone about this— Not even goddamn social goddamn services!"

"Why shouldn't I? Pigs like you should be locked up in jail."

"Because if you do—" His voice had gotten low. "—I'll find you, and I'll kill you."

Lightning fast, Cat socked him in the nose. She put all her anger and all her force in it. She heard the satisfying CRACK as something broke. Her knuckles stung, but she felt nothing but slow anger. The man's head jerked back. He fell hard on his back, mumbling obscenities. He tried to get back up, but his movements were slow and sluggish. He made up for it by yelling threats at her.

"You little brat! When I get back up, I'll kill you! Hear that? I'll kill you dead!"

"Now, now," a pleasant voice above them consoled. "This is a safe space. No need for violence here. How about we find a peaceful, less brutal way to solve the problem here?"

Logan's father shrieked very masculinely and whirled around.

Cat looked up to see who it was. Her brain short circuited. It couldn't be— Was that—? Was he—? Could it—?

But there he was. Spider-Man, in his traditional red and blue glory, looking very real and very much like he was about to beat the crap out of Logan's father.

He was crouched, perfectly balanced on the edge of a balcony. Cat got the feeling that nothing short from a hurricane would make him fall from his position. He had somehow dropped down in the alley without her or Logan's father noticing, and had a can of Coke in his hand.

"You're that Spider-Freak from Youtube!" Logan's father snarled.

"I prefer Spider-Man. Now, what seems to be the problem here?" He held up one finger, like he just had a realization. "Oh! I know! You," He pointed at Logan's father, "sir, are a Grade-A jerk."

Logan's father told Spider-Man to do something not very nice.

"Normally I would let that slide on account that you're a horrible person, except there are children present. So I guess I'll just have to—"

Thwip! Thwip! Spider-Man shot a burst of webs at the man's mouth, silencing his yells.

"There. Much better."

He sipped from his soda loudly, then set it down on the balcony. Very calmly, he did a flip in the air and landed neatly on the ground without making a sound. And then, he very politely punched Logan's father in the face.

The punch didn't look like it had much strength behind it, but it had enough force to make Logan's father stumble back and crash into a Dumpster. Cat moved back, in awe of Spider-Man's strength. Judging by his slim and slender figure, he didn't look like he was capable of that much strength.

"Oh my god! I didn't mean to do that," Spider-Man apologized, sounding falsely remorseful. He crossed the length of the alley in a few strides, face to face with Logan's father. The man was beginning to look a little scared. "My fist just reacts violently to abusive jerks."

Cat was beginning to wish she had some popcorn.

Spider-Man's fist flew out quickly and punched Logan's father again. "Look, it did it again!"

Logan's father made an attempt to punch him, but due to his drunkenness, he missed by a foot or two. If it was possible for a man to have contempt while wearing a blue and red mask covering his face, Spider-Man managed it quite nicely.

"I don't like people that make death threats against little kids," Spider-Man said. His tone was joking and light, but there was a layer of ice cold fury underneath his words. "Even more than pineapple on pizza. Call it a pet peeve. So I think my fist gets to meet your face again."

With a final punch, Logan's father crumpled to the ground in an unconscious heap. When Spider-Man was done webbing him to the ground nice and tight, he turned around and gave Cat a thumbs up. She gave him a weak nod, not sure what she was expecting him to do after that display. She wasn't expecting him to break out in a wide smile and start rambling in the most nonthreatening way possible.

"Hey, kid. That was a great punch back there! He was like, blah blah blah, I'm going to kill you! And then you were like, BAM! So awesome! I think you broke his nose! Not that it's a good thing," he amended quickly. "You shouldn't break people's noses. Unless they're trying to kill you. Please quote me on that."

"You know what, you sound kinda familiar—" His eyes widened suddenly, and he paused in his question to exclaim, "Wait a second! I remember you!"

"Really?"

"You're that kid with the dog, right? It's not every day I save a kid from being mugged at night. Technically it's twice, if you include today."

"Speaking of, we need to stop meeting like this," she sighed. "I'm—"

"Cat!" He sounded pleased with himself for remembering. "Am I right?"

"...Yes," she said, sounding faintly surprised. "You have a great memory."

Spider-Man shrugged. "No, it's not that. It's just… you reminded me of someone the first time we met. The name just kinda stuck. Pun not intended." He wiggled his fingers.

"If it makes it better, you make a memorable first impression too, Spider-Boy."

"Spider-Man," he corrected immediately.

"I don't think so. How old are you again?"

"I think we've had this conversation before. If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret identity."

"So… eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Stop guessing!"

"No, you're right. You're still going through voice and bodily changes." Cat grimaced at the thought. "I'd guess sixteen, eighteen tops."

"I just happen to have a high voice, okay?" His voice cracked in his haste.

"If you say so," she said with a smirk. He had more or less confirmed her statement.

He quickly turned the tables on her. "How old are you?"

"Uh-uh. It doesn't work like that, Spider-Boy." She paused. "Hypothetically speaking, if I do tell you, will you tell me your real age?"

"What? No!"

"Why not? I won't tell anyone."

"Uh, because—"

Lucky for him, Taco came barking around the corner to Cat, her leash trailing behind her. Cat must have not tied it around the pole tight enough. Her dog put her paws on Logan's father and growled fiercely. Don't mess with me, she looked like she was telling him.

"Good dog, Taco," Cat praised. "But it's all good. The evil man's knocked out now."

Taco growled and pawed at Logan's father's unmoving body until she was satisfied. Then she padded over to Spider-Man, and sat down at his feet, staring at him with big brown eyes.

"She wants you to pet her," Cat told him.

Spider-Man reached down to stroke her ears. "Aww!" He cooed at Taco and, to Cat's horror and disgust, started making gag-worthy noises. They weren't different from the kinds of sounds that middle aged women made at cute babies.

"Who's a good dog? You are! You are!" He noticed Cat making a judgemental face, and reacted in defense. "What? Don't pretend you don't do this."

Cat shook her head. "I'm still trying to process what I just saw."

Spider-Man stood up, and Taco whined in protest. He nodded at the limp body of Logan's dad. "Who's that guy anyway? Your dad?"

"Hell no. That's Logan's—" She gasped suddenly. "Oh my god— Logan!" Cat looked to where he was sprawled on the ground. She was so wrapped up in their conversation that she had forgotten that he was there for a second.

"I am a terrible person," she whispered.

Logan was starting to gain consciousness, and mumbled, "I second that."

"Jesus Christ," Spider-Man cried, alarmed, "has that kid been there this whole time?"

"Yes," Cat admitted guiltily, rushing to him and kneeling by his limp form. He groaned from the shadows. "Sorry, sorry! I kind of forgot you existed."

"That hurts," Logan groaned, pulling himself to a sitting position with his eyes closed. Cat couldn't tell if he meant it in a sarcastic way, directed toward her statement, or it there was something hurting him.

"How are you feeling? Pained? Dizzy? Not dead?"

"Not dead."

Logan still had his eyes closed. Cat touched his arm slightly to see if he had fallen unconscious again. He winced.

"Why are you keeping your eyes closed?"

"I feel a little dizzy," Logan said, his voice a little more than a hoarse whisper. "It's alright. The pain takes a moment to settle in after I've been beat up like that. It's always worse when he's drunk."

Cat felt horror at his blasé attitude, but she could relate. Uncle Kyle, who wasn't shy about hitting her, was careful about not leaving bruises where they could easily be seen. But when he did, Cat found out it was best to act like it wasn't a big deal when people asked. It was clearly a big deal for Logan, though. His tiny winces gave it away.

Logan, who Cat had never heard utter more than a few irritable words at a time, sounded nothing like himself. Without the snark and edge to his voice, he sounded like he was meaning what he said. He also sounded incredibly tired. His face looked more peaceful and harmless when his eyes were closed.

"You shouldn't have seen that, Cat," he told her. His voice was filled with shame. Her seeing him at his lowest point was a big strike to his pride. "My dad's really messed up in the head."

"I know that."

"Wait a sec," Spider-Man interjected. "That guy that I just beat up and trapped to the floor— he's your dad?"

Logan's eyelids flickered. "Who's that voice?"

Cat glanced at him. If she told him that Spider-Man showed up, he might freak out. She needed him calm for the time being. Sending the superhero a silent warning to keep silent, she answered, "This guy. He helped me beat up your dad."

Logan's head turned in the approximate direction of Spider-Man. "You beat up my dad?" he asked, as if he wanted confirmation from the man who did it.

"Yes," Spider-Man admitted cautiously.

There was a long wait before Logan said reluctantly, "Thanks. I guess."

"No problem. Does he, your dad, I mean, do that a lot? You know, get drunk, and…" Spider-Man trailed off. "You don't need to answer that."

After a pause, he answered him. "Today wasn't like other days. I try to not make him mad when he gets like that. Today he just got an email about the fight at school. He was already really drunk, and…"

"I'm really sorry, Logan," Cat said genuinely. First James, now Logan. It was the second time in a day that she had apologized for something that wasn't her fault.

"Now you see why I can't 'punch back,'" he said bitterly.

"Sorry," she said again, refraining from saying that she had punched his father. She didn't know where the sudden urge to apologize came, but she truly felt bad for him. No one should have to experience that. "I didn't know about it."

"Whatever. It's fine. I'm sorry about James," he said suddenly, sounding awkward. "I didn't know he would react that way either."

Cat thought back to the James incident, and felt herself forgiving him a little for that. His reactions made more sense now. "It's fine," she repeated his words.

"I think I feel okay to open my eyes now."

"Wait! There's something you should—" Cat warned hurriedly.

"Oh my god!"

Spider-Man smiled sheepishly. "Uh, hi."

"It's— you're— it's Spider-Man!" Logan sat up too eagerly and shook Cat's shoulder. "It's not a dream, is it? Quick, pinch me!"

"Hard pass."

"Spider-Man, you're the one who saved me?"

"Um… yup." The superhero sounded like he might be blushing under the mask. "Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here."

"Wow. This is insane. I'm Logan." He stretched out a hand nervously. His entire face went red, but he grinned like Christmas had come early when the superhero shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Logan." The eyes on his mask widened upon seeing the bruises on Logan's face and arms. "Oh, wow, that's a hell— I mean, heck— of a fight you put up. Do you feel okay? Any dizziness, bleeding, other serious injuries?"

"I'm fine. Just bruises," Logan said. His face was full of admiration and awe, he seemed to have forgotten about his pain.

"You sure? Mind if I take a look?"

"No— I mean, yes, you can take a look— No, I don't mind!" Logan grinned, and it dawned upon Cat that he was fanboying over Spider-Man. "I think you're awesome, by the way."

"Thanks, kid! I think you're awesome, too."

Logan beamed, and it was like someone had lifted the curtain and saw the sun rise.

Cat was seeing a new side of this kid. It was no secret now, that Logan was a huge Spider-Man fan. She noticed that he had a nice smile, and how bright it was when it was genuine. The smile suited his face better than the scowl that he always wore.

Spider-Man looked over his injuries. He pressing a finger lightly to a bruise or two, then gauged Logan's reactions. "It's nothing too terrible," he concluded. "It looks pretty painful, but no serious injuries. Should heal up in a few days or weeks."

"Careful, Loge," Cat warned the boy, who looked like he was living his worst nightmare and his best dream at the same time. "You might want to pick your jaw back up. There's a lot of germs on the ground."

Logan did not, in fact, pick his jaw off the ground. He also didn't tell her to not call him Loge. "I can't believe it. The Spider-Man saved me."

"And me," Cat added. "Don't forget me. Remember, I'm the one that saved you first. He just did fancy flips and webbed people around." She was ignored.

"Can I— Could I get your autograph?"

"What, me? Oh! Oh sure, sure," Spider-Man agreed, sounding flattered and surprised. "Wait, lemme see if I have a pen somewhere…" He produced a Sharpie from out of nowhere, even though Cat couldn't see any pockets on his suit. "Do you have a piece of paper? But if you want me to sign your arm or your forehead, that's okay too. You'd be surprised at how many people ask..."

Logan hurriedly searched around in his pockets, looking relieved as he pulled out a worn sheet of paper. Spider-Man took it and wrote something on it in capital letters. WIth a flourish, he signed it: From your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!

Then he read off something from the piece of paper. His face behind the mask was unreadable as he asked, "Is this your science homework?"

Logan flushed. "I think so."

Spider-Man looked down at it for a moment, then passed it back. "Since it's me signing it, I'll let it slide. But always remember to do your homework!" He then put his face in his hands, mumbling something that sounded like, "Damn Captain America PSAs…"

Cat stifled a grin with her hand. The mention of the PSAs brought back a distant memory…

She had found out about the PSAs via a Youtube compilation. There was nothing more hilarious than watching Steve, decked out in red, white, and blue spandex, lecturing middle school students about the benefits of staying abstinent. Steve had claimed to have been forced into them. After being bribed with frozen yogurt, she refrained from telling Natasha. Yet somehow, the PSAs found their way into her phone that night.

She didn't bring them up directly. Instead, in typical Nat fashion, she quoted him the video while he was mid-gulp drinking his second protein shake. Natasha cracked up, but quickly stopped smiling when Steve choked so hard that he spat his smoothie on Nat's pristine walls. Later, Steve made Cat clean up the mess.

"You just had to," he had grumbled. "You can forget about that frozen yogurt."

"Worth it," Cat choltered. And she'd got the entire thing on Nat's phone. Priceless.

"Why are you smiling?" Logan prodded, bringing her back to the present.

"Hmm? Oh, nothing…"

Logan looked at Cat, and seemed to see that she wasn't fangirling over him like he was. "Cat, you never told me that you knew Spider-Man."

"We don't really know each other," Cat said, the same time Spider-Man said, "It's a really long story."

"I saved her from a bunch of mean people once, and now we're best friends!" His eyes narrowed in thought. "Huh. I guess it's not a long story after all."

Logan looked at her. "That's so cool. Cat, you never told me that happened to you!"

"I don't tell you everything. As you might recall, we weren't exactly BFFs at school." Before he could respond, Cat questioned Spider-Man, "We're best friends?"

"Sure we are! You let me pet your dog!"

"Which automatically means we're best friends." Cat snapped her fingers and made an ohhh face. "Got it now."

"Exactly!"

"Don't you have vigilante things to do? Getting sleepwalking cats out of trees, saving old ladies from cars, the like?"

"Oh, yeah, I should get back to that," he said, like he had just remembered. "But will you guys be able to get back okay?"

"I live right here."

"I live near here." Cat pointed vaguely in the distance without looking.

"Then I better get going." Spider-Man put a hand on Logan's shoulder, making eye contact the best he could while wearing a mask. "I know this is none of my business, but what your dad is doing to you isn't right. The next time your old man bothers you, do me a favor and tell someone, okay? You're not alone in this. You've got your friend Cat—"

"'Friend' is too strong a word," remarked Cat. "'Unfriendly acquaintance' would be more accurate."

"And you've got me," he finished.

Logan looked overwhelmed.

A muffled noise sounded behind them. They all looked to see Logan's father struggling against his webbed jail. Logan looked like he didn't know whether or not to be relieved by it. A shadow of fear passed his face.

Spider-Man sprung up eagerly. "Perfect timing, Mr. Logan's dad! I just need to tell you something. Friendly reminder of what'll happen to you if you ever mess with your son again— and trust me, I'll know if you do."

He crossed over to crouch down next to Logan's father. He said something very low that Cat couldn't make out, and Logan's father's eyes widened in fear and looked ready to pass out again. He nodded very quickly.

The superhero clapped him on the shoulder. "Got that? Sweet!"

"You didn't have to do that," Logan said, eyes downcast. "I can deal with it."

"I know you can. You're a really strong kid. But you don't have to. And if you're ever in a rough spot, I'm always around."

"Thanks, Spider-Man." Logan blinked fast. "For everything."

"It's really nothing."

"It was something," Cat admired. It was the first time she'd felt respect this strong for someone. "That was really nice of you."

He shrugged awkwardly. "Maybe. Well, now that that's been taken care of, I got friendly neighborhood Spider-Man things to do. Sleepwalking cats to get out of trees, criminals to web up, the like." He winked at Cat. "See you guys around!" He gave them a two-fingered salute and scrambled up the building and disappeared over the top.

"He left his Coke," Cat pointed out, looking at the can of soda still on the balcony.


	24. Chapter 24: Pepper Potts is really nice

Cat had a good memory.

No, not just good— a _perfect_ memory.

She wasn't bragging. That was a cold hard fact. She could remember every phone number she'd ever been told, recall every sentence word for word from any book, and recite the dialogue from any movie after only seeing it once. She was _really_ good with directions.

That being said— it was possible that she had gotten lost.

 _Why is New York so confusing?_

In her defense, it was dark. And, well, excuse her if she hadn't been focused on remembering the names of streets when she was walking. She was (50 percent) sure that she had only been walking in one direction, but she got distracted easily. She must've turned a few corners without giving it much thought.

 _I'm not lost, am I?_

The thought had struck her before, but she'd brushed the thought away— because Cat Gray _did not_ get lost, dammit— until she realized that she had passed the same alley three times. She then had to admit to herself that… yes, she was lost.

Definitely undeniably, helplessly, hopelessly lost.

Shortly after, a wild panic seized her. She had no way of communicating, no directions, no helpful strangers to ask her if she was lost. So far, no one she had passed looked to be helpful candidates: a hoard of drunk teenagers stumbling and singing, a man smoking a cigarette who had eyed her in a way that made her uncomfortable, and a couple screaming at each other from opposite sides of the street.

Cat had unclipped Taco from her leash and was holding her tiny form against her chest for extra warmth. She passed a street, squinting her eyes to read the name. She thought she recognized it, but at a second glance, wasn't so sure anymore.

The awful feeling growing in her stomach, she resolved to ask the next stranger if she could borrow their phone. She just needed to practice her helpless puppy face, and she'd be good to go.

She spotted a man jogging with his earbuds in(this late at night? Really?) and thought, _I'll ask the next one._ A woman wearing a shawl was meditating on the steps, back ramrod straight. _Yeah, no._ Two teenagers making out passionately behind a sign— _Definitely not._

Five minutes later, four people had passed and she talked herself out of every one of them.

Ugh! She hated this! The cold wind whipped her face, fierce and unrelentless. Her fingers had gone numb— she was really wishing she had brought gloves. She really, really wanted to go home.

Her face still throbbed from the devastating blow where Logan's stupid father had struck her. She should have never stopped to help that idiot. All she wanted to do was to go home and sleep for a million years.

She was beginning to feel sick and dizzy. A wave of nausea swept over her. She used one hand to hold Taco and raised her ice cold fingers to her forehead. It was hot to the touch. She was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to be good. She undid her coat and wrapped her shivering dog in it instead. The cool air was a relief to her burning face.

She yawned widely, feeling light headed and drowsy. She had no idea why she felt so tired. Oh right, she hadn't slept the night before. A wave of heat overtook her, making nausea shoot up to her stomach. Her legs felt like jelly; she had no idea how they could have supported her this long. Her head was swimming, her vision becoming blurry. She suddenly felt unsteady on her feet.

 _I just want to fall asleep right here…_

Cat blinked. Everything came into focus. No, this wasn't time to get tired. A steely resolve came over her. She was going to ask the next person she saw, regardless if they were drunk out of their mind or wearing a banana costume.

A ginger haired woman caught her attention. She was crossing the street impressively fast in tall stilettos, phone trapped between her chin and her shoulder as she balanced a clipboard, a laptop, a purse, and somehow a large coffee in the middle. A very nice car pulled up to the curb just as she reached it. A man came out and got the door for her. She had one foot in the car when Cat called out to her.

"Excuse me, ma'am!"

The woman looked up. Her eyes softened when she saw Cat. "Yes?"

Cat arranged her face into the most pitiful, sad face she could, making her eyes go wide and vulnerable. "I'm terribly sorry, but c-could you help me, ma'am? I'm scared, I— I don't know where I am. I need to get home."

"Of course," she agreed without hesitation, smiling in what might've been a reassuring way.

The man from the car tapped the lady on the shoulder. "Ma'am, your meeting is in—"

"Jonathan, would you mind waiting inside the car? I'll be just a moment." Jonathan looked like he did mind, but did as she asked without question. The woman got out her phone from her purse. "Do you know your parent's number?"

Cat sighed in very real relief, wishing that she could have been acting out that bit. She pretended to think. "I can't remember the numbers. But I can type it if you give me your phone." The woman hesitated. "I promise I won't steal it, ma'am, I don't do that kind of stuff."

"Okay. And— if you don't mind me asking, how did you get that black eye?"

"Got punched in the face by some kid."

"Oh! Are you okay?"

 _None of your business!_ Cat knew the woman was only being nice, but it annoyed her. "'Course."

She typed the number into the keypad. Not Natasha's number, of course. Instead, she put in the number for the Smithsonian Museum. Just as she expected, the robotic voice answered it. She let it play out for a few seconds, long enough for the woman to tell that it went to voicemail.

She handed the phone back, looking dejected. "She didn't answer. She's probably sleeping."

"Why are you out here so late? Do your parents know you're out here?"

Cat chewed her lip, buying herself time. The gears in her head whirled. She needed something believable. "Well… no. I just went outside to walk my dog, because he needed to _go_ , you know what I mean?" She widened her eyes at the woman. "And my mom doesn't let me go out that late, so I didn't tell her."

"You should listen to your mom when she tells you not to do something."

Cat resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Anyway, then I guess I walked around too much, because now I don't know where I am." Her bottom lip quivered. "And I'm _cold_."

"Well, why don't you put on your jacket, sweetie?"

Was she just called _sweetie_? Gross. She shook her head stubbornly. "No, Taco needs it more."

"That won't do. Here, I've got an idea. How about you come inside my car so that you won't freeze to death, and then I can drive you home?"

Score! The puppy dog eyes always worked. _Always._

"Well… my mom always says not to go into a car with someone you've never met. But I'm cold and Taco's cold, so I guess I'll come in for both our sakes. But only if you promise not to kidnap us."

The woman chuckled. "I promise. And for the record, my name is Pepper. What's yours?"

"Cat."

"There! Now that we're both acquainted, you have no reason to believe that I'll kidnap you— both of you."

"Okay!" she agreed brightly.

Cat told her the address and got in the car. Jonathan whispered something loud to Pepper, but she waved him off. It was nice and toasty inside her car, with Michael Bublé playing on the radio, along with the faint smell of champagne. The slow, lulling music playing made her drowsy, and the warmth inside of the car made her feel safe. When Cat's eyelids started dipping down, she didn't fight the urge to drift off.

* * *

Someone was shaking her shoulder. "Cat, wake up!"

She woke up with a start— inside an unfamiliar car. Her head throbbed, and she felt a little nauseous, which was odd because she usually didn't get carsick. On instinct, she snatched the hand that was touching her and yanked it away from her shoulder.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

Cat stared at the ginger haired woman, memories flooding back. She let go of the hand in embarrassment. "I— sorry. Did I fall asleep?"

The woman— Pepper, she remembered— smiled sympathetically. "You did. Really fast, too. You must be tired."

She looked out the window. The first thing she noticed was that the curtains were illuminated with light. A ball of dread tugged in her gut. "This is it."

"It's nice. Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No, that's alright. She'll probably be really mad."

"Are you sure? In that case, I think I should come in and explain the situation."

Cat wondered how people like Pepper existed. People that were kind to random kids they met on the street, who offered said kids a ride home, and even asked to accompany kids to the door. She was either a saint or someone who needed to get a life.

"No, really, it's fine."

"I should at least make sure you're safe. Jonathan, keep the car running. I'll be right back."

Cat tried to protest, but Pepper was already climbing out of her car and heading toward the porch. She muttered a few choice words under her breath and climbed out as well, holding Taco in her arms. She'd had this amazing plan: climb up the wall to her room, come downstairs and find Natasha, say something like _What do you mean? I was upstairs this entire time!_

Cat raced to the porch first and motioned Pepper back a little. "You might want to step back."

Pepper looked slightly confused, but she nodded, sidestepping away from the door. Cat rang the doorbell. _Ding-dong._

The door swung open, revealing a very different Natasha Romanoff. Her hair wasn't styled in its usual way. She was wearing sweatpants and a tank top. She also looked uncharacteristically worried and frazzled. When she saw Cat, all the tension went out of her shoulders. There was an unmistakable flash of relief on her face, followed by a wall slamming over her face. Based on previous evidence, Cat deduced this was because she was pissed off.

"What the hell, Cat?"

She set Taco down, letting him run into the house. "Please don't kill me," she said quickly, raising her hands. "I have a super good explanation."

Her left eyebrow arched in irritation. "Why do you have a black eye?"

"That—" She pointed like she was Wilbur in _Meet the Robinsons_. "—is an excellent question."

Pepper, standing off to the side, was opening and closing her mouth like a fish. Oops. Cat remembered that Natasha was the Black Widow, so maybe bringing Pepper to meet her, when she might be recognized, was not one of her best ideas.

"Oh, by the way! Nat, meet Pepper. Pepper, meet—"

" _Natasha?"_

Okay. She had not been expecting that.

"What— Pepper?"

"Wait." Cat looked between both of them. "You two know each other? How do you know each other?"

"Pepper, why—"

"Oh my god! You have a kid!" Pepper exclaimed.

"No, no, I—"

"I thought she looked familiar! I can see the similarities now, actually." She looked back and forth, then shook her head. "No, but— I can't believe it! How long have you hid this from SHIELD? Or do they know? Does the team know?"

"It's a long story. She's a very distant niece, I made the grave mistake of taking her in, and she's been terrorizing my life in the past few months."

"The feeling is mutual," Cat mumbled.

Natasha flicked her on the forehead. _Oww_. "Quiet. I'll deal with you later. How do you two know each other?"

"Cat was lost, and she asked if she could borrow my phone. She called you, but it went to voicemail. I thought I'd give her a ride home."

"That's funny. I never got your call."

They both looked at Cat, who smiled angelically.

"My bad. I must've gotten the wrong number."

Natasha glared.

"Or maybe I accidentally dialed the number for the Smithsonian Museum. Accidentally."

She raised her eyebrows at Pepper. "See what I have to deal with?"

Pepper looked to Cat in amazement. "You were a completely different person fifteen minutes ago."

"I forgot to mention that she's a pathological liar."

Not untrue, but still… "Ouch."

"Oh." Pepper studied Cat curiously.

"Pepper, why don't you come in?"

"Oh, no, I can't. I have a very important meeting I have to attend for Tony, and Jonathan is waiting for me in the car—"

"Tony _Stark_?" Cat interjected, eyes wide with disbelief. God, she was an idiot! "You're Pepper Potts. CEO of Stark Industries."

"And _you're_ going to bed." Natasha nudged her in the direction of the staircase. "It was nice seeing you, Pepper."

"I want the full story next time!"

"Bye, Pepper!"

The door slammed shut.

Natasha looked at Cat.

"It better be a _really_ good explanation."

* * *

After Cat's really good (carefully crafted and omitted) explanation, many demanding questions, and many lectures that put Steve's three-point lectures (with subpoints) to shame, Natasha eventually took pity on her limp noodle-like state. But not before she informed her that they would be continuing the conversation— _ahem_ , interrogation— in greater depth later.

She had learned a valuable lesson at the end of it. Never underestimate Natasha Romanoff's interrogation techniques.

Like, seriously. The woman was a goddamn polygraph. ("Did you know that your right eye twitches when you lie?" Cat did _not_ know that, and unsuccessfully tried to prevent it from twitching again.) It was hard lying to a liar, especially one with years of experience. And she wouldn't let Cat answer questions with questions. There was the unfair advantage that she was functioning on a solid six hours of sleep. Cat was functioning on approximately zero.

By the end of it, she was exhausted out of her mind. She had dozed off on the table before the sun rose.

Hours later, she woke up in her bedroom at noon feeling like she was a million degrees.

Her first reaction was _oh crap I'm late_ but then she remembered that it was Saturday— thank god. Which was good because the first thing she did was rush to the bathroom and heave up the remains of her midnight snack into the toilet. That was followed by three minutes of dry heaving, which was how long for her stupid brain to figure out that there was nothing left in her sotmach to throw up. Lovely.

She felt _awful._ It was probably a fever. Her nose felt uncomfortably clogged and runny at the same time. Her head pulsed with a headache. Her tongue felt too dry. Her head was swimming with nausea. Her thoughts were fuzzy and disorganized. She drank half a bottle of water, but her throat still felt parched.

When she came down the stairs looking for a cure, several things caught her attention. The stove was on and someone was cooking, which was never a good sign in their house. (The only thing more terrifying than seeing Natasha with a knife was seeing her with a spatula.) Alarmingly, the fire alarm wasn't going off, which meant that a) Natasha had miraculously learned how to cook after years of nonexistent cooking skills, b) a baddie had broken into their house in order to make delicious smelling breakfast, or c) Steve had come back from his mission. Cat opted for the third option, since that was the only one that seemed to be within the realm of possibility.

Unsurprisingly, she was greeted with the sight of Steve in the kitchen flipping pancakes onto a towering stack. He was wearing his standard white shirt(which had to be at least two sizes smaller than he needed, Jesus) and jeans. What _was_ surprising was that he was wearing the most loud, atrocious apron ever made. It had blinding colors and letters that spelled out _Kiss the Cook_.

"Oh. My god. What _is_ that monstrosity?"

He didn't even flinch— must've heard her with those enhanced ears. "Good morning, Cat," he called without turning. "What monstrosity?"

"That _thing_ hanging around your neck. It is unacceptable. Take it off immediately." After a moment, she said, "Good morning, Steve. I think it's 'good afternoon' now though."

"You mean my apron? It's a garment generally used for—"

She pulled out a chair and melted into it. "I know it's an apron, Steve. I meant, why is it on your person?"

"You don't like it? Why not? I found it in a drawer."

"Clearly! Because that's where it belongs. In a drawer. Far, far away from the unprotected eyes of innocent beings."

"You're ridiculous."

"No _you're_ ridiculous. No one could possibly like that… that thing."

"Well, I do."

"You can't. It's against the laws of physics."

Steve sounded as if he might be wearing a mystified expression. "It's an _apron_ , Cat. How can liking an _apron_ be against the laws of physics?"

"When it's one that says _Kiss the Cook_ in insulting colors. I hate it."

"Hate is a strong word."

"I intensely dislike it with the burning passion of a thousand suns. The mere sight of it makes me feel extremely and deeply insulted."

She could hear the grin curving his words. "Well, I'm sure the apron feels appropriately insulted."

"Good," Cat said without pause.

"I think you're being a little dramatic."

"Think what you like. All I'm saying is, don't expect me to protect you from Natasha's future blackmail material."

After a comfortable pause, Steve asked, "So I'm assuming you slept well?"

"Okay. I went to bed late. When'd you get here?"

"Just an hour ago. I heard you moving around in your room. Natasha said you haven't had breakfast yet, so I figured I'd make myself useful."

That was such a Steve thing to do. "Thanks." She looked around the room. "Speaking of Nat, where is she?"

"Out. She said she'd be back in a few minutes."

"Mmm, okay." Cat pressed two fingers to her temple, trying to massage the headache away.

"You sound kind of sick," he remarked.

"Ugh, I think I am. Do you know if we have any ibuprofen?"

"Uh, no, I don't think so. Why? Are you… _whoa_!" In the process of speaking, he turned around to look at her, and his eyes went wide. Cat remembered that a good fourth of her face was bruised. "That's a hell of a—"

Cat mock gasped. " _Language_!"

He rolled his eyes in true valley girl fashion. "That's quite a shiner you got there. When did that happen?"

"Got punched."

"Cat…"

"La la la, I can't hear you because it's too early for long winded lectures about safety and being nice to people!"

He exhaled through his nose. "Fine. I'll leave it for now. You were saying something about needing ibuprofen?"

"I think I'm sick. But it doesn't feel bad," Cat lied through her teeth. Her head was pounding and the heat radiating off of her face was enough to fry an egg. The smell of food was making her nauseous. "I just feel a little warmer than normal."

"That doesn't sound too alarming. I'll take your temperature after I finish up with these pancakes. While you're here, check this out."

Steve rolled his wrist holding the sizzling pan, then executed some sort of complicated twisty flipping thing with the pancake. He quickly slid the pan back on the stove behind his back, and threw a plate right under the pancake as it landed. The plate slid forward with the momentum and stopped right in front of Cat.

He looked so unbelievably proud of himself. She raised her eyebrows. "Impressive."

He tossed her a fork. "I've been practicing."

Cat looked at the pancake. Instead of smelling delicious, her stomach turned when she caught a whiff of it. She didn't want to refuse Steve's pancakes after he'd so generously made it for her, so she took a cautious bite and instantly regretted it. Her stomach felt like it had been tossed into an earthquake simulation.

Steve's face dropped. "Are they too raw?"

"No, no, they're great. I just don't think I can stomach anything right now."

"Right, you're sick. I should take your temperature."

He was explaining to Cat why sterilizing a thermometer was important when the front door swung open. Natasha stepped in, wearing a cream petticoat and shaking the snow out of her hair. She dumped some grocery bags on the couch and sighed loudly. "I'm back."

Cat perked up. "Did you get Oreos?"

"I see you're awake. And no, you can't have Oreos every week. Those aren't healthy for you."

"Who cares? I'm going to die anyway."

"That's the spirit," Steve said. "Nat, where's the thermometer? Cat says she's ill."

"Only a little bit. Not _that_ ill."

She reached forward and pressed a cool hand to Cat's forehead. A crease appeared between her eyebrows. "That's hot. Definitely a fever." She disappeared behind the corner and reappeared moments later with a packaging box.

Cat stared at it. "Why do you have an unopened thermometer? Are there other unopened items just lying around our house?"

"It's good to have supplies in case of emergencies." Nat took her temperature and frowned slightly. "102.6 degrees."

Steve paled.

Cat lifted her head, studying both their reactions. "That's not that bad, right?"

"The thermometer says otherwise." Natasha glared at Steve.

He raised his hands defensively. "I didn't know! She said it didn't feel bad!"

"Not that bad. I have a headache and general nausea, but I feel fine."

Natasha looked at her in disbelief. "Right. From now on, whenever you say you're 'fine,' I'm going to translate that to 'horrible' and save a few years off of my life."

"Should we take her to a doctor?" asked Steve.

"I'm not sure. Cat, how bad does it feel?"

"Um, I threw up in the bathroom earlier. I feel hot and dizzy and I have a headache. Other than that I feel—"

Natasha raised the thermometer threateningly. "If you say 'fine,' I swear I will stab you with this thermometer."

"'Do not use thermometer for anything other than its intended purpose,'" Cat read from the box.

She received glares from two scary people who have mean glaring faces.

"Hey, does this mean I don't have to go to school on Monday?"

* * *

 **sooo hi i basically wrote this entire thing in a day after months and years and centuries of debating what will happen and how things will happen and only using the google docs editing thing to edit. sorry if it doesn't make sense some parts of the way through. this probably doesn't make sense either but you know WHATEVER. I know I haven't updated in a long time. a lot of stuff has happened and I haven't had motivation to write in between.**

 **that's an excuse, so sorry. (I realize that most of these authors notes are me apologizing for being late or in this case SUPER late to updates... so sorry about being sorry that i have to be sorry!)**

 **I will DEFINITELY- DEF FIN IT ALLY- be continuing this! unless I die or something, in that case send me flowers. oh right you don't know where I live... unless you're a stalker... who stalks... celery stalks... (see? this makes nooo sense) and also flowers give me allergies, so virtual flowers will be ok if you decide to do that.**

 **on that happy death note, bye...**

 **oh yeah and review!**

 **yes i'm that person.**


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